Birds
by Laces Kai
Summary: You've seen Newsies a thousand times, but have you ever seen it like this? The strike through the eyes of the Brooklyn Birds that are always listening and watching. What the strike looked like from the sidelines, as told by many authors from the NML.
1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE**

**This story is based on how we saw the true events from the sidelines.**

_In 1899,_

_The streets of New York City rang with the whispered legends of the birds._

_Carrying the news of Spot Conlon, Jack Kelly and other giants of the city streets world._

_On every street corner, you never saw them, watching everyone and everything._

_Bringing together the stories of the city a whistle for wisdom._

_Poor orphans and runaways, the birds were a ragged army,_

_without a story, until one day all that changed…_

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Note to Readers: This is based on the vague idea of Brooklyn Birds - as Spot Conlon suggests birds told him about the strike, we have taken that one line and gone running off into our imaginations. This is a story collaboration between many members of the NML (Newsies Mailing List) Each chapter is going to be written by a different writer, a different bird, and a different perspective. The chapters are based on the exact matching titled chapter of the DVD, as this is going to be the birds account of the Newsies Strike (aka the movie) if you are interested in helping out with this writing project, please send me a message! We are looking for more birds, there is a possibility if we get enough writers we might make this into a choose your own bird to follow adventure of the movie! Let us know what you think!


	2. Carrying the Banner

** Carrying the Banner**

_By Laces_

I was running quickly, my heart was throbbing so hard I thought it might jump right out of my chest. I yawned as I scurried across the sidewalk, passing old Horace Greenly to my right. Noticing the sleeping boys, I let out an exasperated groan. I wanted to be asleep! I could still be asleep! Why was I awake?

I hate mornings, I loathe the idea of being up with the sun. Being awake in the crisp bright sunny morning of this New York City summer day made me cranky beyond belief. Usually I didn't have to be awake, but I had gone mouthing off to stupid Dragon yesterday and this is what I got for it. He sentenced me to a morning shift in Manhattan, the rooster shift. Why did roosters need to get up with the sun anyway?

Dragon, the oh so fair leader of the birds, did not take to people questioning his authority. I, unfortunately, constantly challenged his authority. What can I say? It's part of who I am. I'm good at eavesdropping, spying, picking a pocket or two and challenging authority. You'd think that after being a bird for two years, I would have learned to just listen but I have a thick skull and an eye for trouble. My skills and attitude is what often left me to be assigned to the Manhattan newsboys because I sort of get under Spot's skin on occasion. But Manhattan on most days was great, cause that Jack Kelly was sure a looker but today. Today, I had gotten up late because like I said I hated mornings.

I could hear the roaring of the press machines from somewhere behind me as well as a sharp whistle. I didn't look around because I knew that Tavern, an owl, was sitting somewhere over the square. We birds are everywhere, don't ever let anyone tell you there's somewhere we can't see you because there just ain't. I worked to lift my heavy legs off the ground and quicken my run because I could hear Tavern's groggily male voice tattling on me to Dragon. I did not need to be doing runs tonight because Dragon Giammo thought I was getting rusty.

Running to get to the Manhattan boys before they left the lodging house was taking every bit of the strength I had left in my warm bed. Stupid Dragon. I climbed up a well-known fire escape as a green old carriage trotted by the old lodging house. Pulling myself up onto the roof across the way, I sort of threw my body on the floor lying down for the first time since Dragon had kicked me out of bed this morning.

"Oh sunshine, won't you ever learn not to cross Dragon?" Pockets Harper looked down at me as he crushed the last bit of his cigarette between his fingers. Pockets was a regular bird, he went wherever he was needed. Last night, our resident pickpocket had been perched on the rooftop across the Manhattan boys lodging house. I let out a loud yawn and only used my eyes to scan the rooftop for any information or danger. There was no movement and barely anything in my line of sight. I caught sight of several little piles of ashes, which meant that Pockets had clearly been in a nervous mood, smoking away his anxieties. I also saw that his thin coat was bundled up a few feet away from him and I squinted up at him.

"SELLING PAPES!" Rang through the sky from the open window of the lodging house. We both ignored the voice, recognizing the morning dialogue.

"Sleeping?" I asked.

"Nah, I woke up when the sun started coming up unlike a certain Laces who's late." Pockets snatched his jacket and jumped to his feet. No matter how uncomfortable the rooftop was on my back, I didn't really want to get up just yet.

"Let me take a quick nap before you leave? The boys still getting ready?' I asked even though I could hear the answer. Kloppman, the old caretaker of the Manhattan Boys Lodging House, had a voice that carried well in the quiet of the mornings. I heard him wrestling with Jack. So I knew that the leader wasn't even out of bed yet. I saw no reason why I had to be!

"No deal darling." Pockets held out his hand to me. I stuck out my tongue at him defiantly before throwing my hand into his. Pockets gave me his dimpled smile and I rolled my eyes. We birds are creatures of habit and repetition. We stuck to our rules, posts and assignments because that's what was taught to us, expected of us and what kept us safe. Pockets wasn't about to let me slack off. And he wouldn't break any rules on my behalf, no matter how cute I looked. Nope, we were a cautious bunch and we had learned to be from experience.

Years ago, before I was part of the elite members of the eyes and ears of the whole city the legendry birds had gotten into quite a scrape in little Italy. I don't know much about it aside from a few of our own died, since then we don't take our rules, posts and assignments lightly. Well, I might sometimes but like I said that just part of who I am. I sat up, perched slightly forward and squinting into the dirty window of the newsboys lodging house. The window sat to the left of the battered wooden sign with the gold lettering announcing the name of the location to any passer.

"Anything new?" I asked knowing that if there had been, a seasoned bird like Pockets would already have informed me but the rules demanded I always ask. It is one of those trust but be suspicious moments that made the birds so very Brooklyn.

"Quiet night." He responded quietly, I could feel his eyes scanning the area once more before he got ready to take flight back to the nest. He would be going back to the nest to rest, suddenly I was bitter again. He did stay up all night though, I reminded myself trying not to get caught up in my own little rant of lack of sleep yet again this morning.

"Remember not to get distracted by Jack Kelly." Pockets warned me from behind. I smiled as I watched the named subject come into my blurry line of sight. Through the grimy window you wouldn't know he was so cute. I felt a tug at my hair and popped my lips in a response to the boy behind me. I was busy watching how Jack swung his signature red bandana over his shoulders and around his neck. I had to admit that Cowboy sure did make it easy on us birds following him. The boy always wore that red flag on him, not to mention the really easily spotted cowboy hat he often had on.

"I swear, it's like Jack Kelly has cast a spell on you or something. Why Dragon keeps letting you indulge in your little fantasy is beyond me…" Pockets was muttering before saying more seriously to me. "Remember you are suppose to be perched here for the day. Follow them to the selling dock and come back."

I grunted some response back as I heard him jump onto another rooftop behind me. So I might be trouble, but Dragon did indulge me. I was good at watching, I always had ten times more important stuff to report than most birds. And as to why Dragon let me follow around the good-looking Kelly that all laid in the simple fact that I pay attention to things I like.

I jumped to my feet as the boys started pouring out of the front door of the lodging house. Honestly I have no idea if it was just because of my keen listening skills or because a couple dozen boys jogging down wooden steps that it sounded like a stampede coming out of the lodging house. I started jogging after the newsboys in my sight, still along the rooftops. I had learned on previous occasions that it was easier to stay high for the first two blocks of connecting buildings. Carefully running along my eyes took in the morning scene, always the same.

Why did Jack's boys have such a thing for jumping over things? I mean really, you can't just walk around the barrel? No, that would require walking around it instead they felt the need to jump over it. Impressive, yes because personally I think I would just walk around it. Also why were they so cheerful about going to carry the banner? Let's go stand on a street corner all day and try to sell papers filled with stories that no one needs to read. All right, I was cranky but the sun was in my eyes. I picked up the pace knowing the group was about to turn the corner, I basically flew down the inside stairs of a tenant building. Flying and falling are sometimes, on rare occasions, the same thing for a bird like me. My ankle might not appreciate my jumping from the fifth step down but I saw a Kid Blink's hat through the second story window and knew that I was going to lose them if I didn't just get outside already.

It might seem silly to fight to keep up with a group of newsboys when I clearly knew where they were ultimately heading. But the bird philosophy is that you never know what's going to happen on the journey anywhere. In the blink of an eye you could miss you could miss enough news to fill the pages of The World. We believed in watching everything, because you never knew what was going to be important later.

I burst out into the street, following closely behind the trolley until I crossed the street. I stood pretending to be distracted by the street sweeper on the corner until the boys moved forward again. I kept my distance behind the group, as I wasn't suppose to get involved with the boys or be seen. That's another thing about us birds, we're pretty secretive honestly if you ask anyone who's anyone we don't even exist. We're just this street fable that people sometimes talk about but no one thinks is true, like the wee folk that Dragon sometimes spoke about I suppose. I slinked along the wall, keeping my head down while keeping my eyes open.

The bells tolled as the morning hour finally became decent enough for other people to be awake. My stomach started to growl and I was pleased to see the nuns up ahead. I smiled watching the newsboys respectful removed their caps as they approached the battered old wagon. Always count on them sisters to provide a nice and free breakfast because trying to help out the poor orphans of the city was naturally their calling. God Bless them for it. I did, unfortunately have to wait until the boys had cleared the area before I ran up to get a roll though. So I sat down on the steps where just seconds before the younger boys had just been playfully fighting with each other.

I glanced down for a nanosecond, to notice my dusty shoelace had come undone on my left shoe. I wasn't about to tie it because things like tying your own shoes and picking a pocket when you were following a target were what made you miss things in my line of work. So my gaze settled back up to stare at the four nuns in their carriage and the backs of the newsboys' head. Skittery's hair had gotten much longer I noted how the golden brown locks curled upwards. I watched the people passing too, a morning couple strolling by and a few business me. Then a woman crept up from my right side, I only caught her out of the corner of my eye before she walked straight into the group of boys.

She wasn't much taller than most of the boys themselves, so I had to jump back up to my feet and venture a little closer to take in her appearance. This of course was the problem with being on ground level, though it also provided a much more accurate account of conversations.

"Patrick. Darling, since you left me. I am undone. Mother, loves you." I could hear her words clearly as I got closer. She was extending her arm over each boy, starring at them to see if she could discover her lost son. I shivered, not from the cold but from the scene. I had seen many parents looking for lost children and even more children looking for lost parents, but mothers were always the worst. Somewhere in the back of my head it registered that Spot's real name was Patrick, though I doubted that this woman was looking for the infamous leader of Brooklyn. I glided past her as she dropped her head saying a prayer. I grabbed the food that God was gracing me with this morning, or at least that's what the nun said to me. Without a second glance to the poor mother, I trudged forward again.

I skipped underneath a brick arch that was the last real obstacle left before getting to Greenly Square. Pushing the bread into my mouth without really chewing I walked along more peacefully now because I would just be watching until the selling gates opened, than I could head back to the lodging house rooftop to watch peacefully. Maybe I could take a nap? I listened to the outraged conversations about bad headlines.

Today's headline was pretty terrible. I mean really it was the same headline that Joe's paper had been running for three weeks. Trolley Strike carries on for third week, pathetic. Even the Sun had a better headline than that, and believe me that was saying something. Though I did hear Mush suggest that maybe the new World headline writer was an idiot working for the Sun. Granted it wasn't like many of the boys even really used the headlines written for them, Jack in particular basically wrote his own headline.

I laughed hearing a younger boy claim that crooked politicians were news. As several of the older boys suggested, that really wasn't news anymore anyone in New York could tell you that. I had been watching from the shadows just two days ago watching Synder walk out of a meeting with one of the city judges counting money.

Walking around the boys and square for a moment before I took refugee on a one of the green benches, keeping a clear lock on the selling docks and most of the newsies. A smell snapped my attention to my right in time to see Morris and Oscar Delancey slouch by in their heavy stride.

The Delancey brothers were two of the easiest targets to spot from rooftops. They walked with their arms puckered out to their sides and their fists seem to drag their whole bodies down. Also they tended to walk from side to side instead of forward like most people. On the ground they were easy to spot because either the world just got darker around you or you smelled something truly unpleasant. I watched the boys cross the square and muscle their way into the inner circle of Jack's boys. Before I knew what was happening, Jack had taken off running and slid under a red wagon. I blinked in time to miss how he managed to be kicking his feet into the Delancey brothers' chins from in front of a bakery. Well, I was going to making up that part of the story. I whistled a few times to make sure that someone else was around in case I had to take off running after the cowboy.

Hearing a twittering response back I knew that someone was nearby. Also that they disapproved of me following Jack, when I clearly had been told to go back to the lodging house. My fellow birds were a little too opinionated, granted they might say the same about me. Jack knock into a boy I have never seen before. He wore a clean blue shirt and newer pants than most newsboys. He was not a street kid. Also he was indignant about being run into that signaled to me that this new boy wasn't a follower of the famous Jack Kelly.

Next to new boy was a shrimp. The shorter and younger new boy was outfitted with the same new clothing and a wooden sword. The family resemblance was clear. The brothers stood looking befuddled about the situation around them while I took strides towards Horace. His statue, a tribute to escaping the grind of the city, was directly in the middle of the square. Standing in the middle meant I could take off in any direction I needed to go, making it less likely I could lose Jack and get yelled at by Dragon.

Though I couldn't see above many of the heads I heard the scuffle happening in the crowd of boys. I assumed that Jack was fighting with the Delancey brothers. I didn't really think about who was winning or who would win, my main priority was to follow Jack if he took off so I was busy shifting my eyes back and forth so fast I was a little dizzy. I did notice that the new boys moved towards the group, gravitated towards them really. The littler one poked his way through the older boys with his sword, powerful weapons those wooden swords.

Maybe if I got a sword I could keep Dragon off my back. I giggled as I pictured stabbing the leader of the Brooklyn Birds with a wooden sword point when he pushed me out of my hammock this morning. My imagination then played out how Dragon would beat into the ground, forgetting his rule about soaking girls. That sword might be a bad idea after all. Focusing on the scene playing out in front of me again, my leg twitched waiting for Jack to run. But Jack didn't take off, nope. He climbed the selling dock gates in true spirit of Manhattan. The climbing, something I didn't understand and I'm a bird! I climb everything, in the name of seeing and hearing. I smiled as the crowd of boys cheered Cowboy on after he climbed the gate.

Though I couldn't see him I heard the little red head boy shout.

"This is for the newsies!"

And I knew that the morning festivities were over and it was time to get to work for everyone. The selling docks gate swung open and I followed Jack as he jumped down but then the parade of other newsboys crowded my sight. I took a deep breath and let out a low long lasting whistle to make sure that one of my fellow fliers knew that I wasn't hiding in the wagon of the selling docks, like I sometimes did. Not today, today I was heading around the corner to find coffee so one of the other pairs of eyes would have to see who these new brothers were and what they were like. The older one had been sort of good looking, nothing really compared to cowboy, but the way his face scrunch up in anger over being pushed had some hidden potential. I loved watching Manhattan, good-looking targets, nuns with breakfast and coffee around the corner from the selling docks. It's a fine life spying on the city tough and tall.


	3. Headlines

**Headlines**

_**By Filly**_

_**Bird on Watch: Tavern**_

It was early morning and the selling docks in Manhattan had just opened. The headlines were being written up on the board, and the boys were rolling in almost literally. I was lounging on the rooftop of the bookstore across Greenly Square, smoking my cigarette and yawning. I disliked mornings mostly, they were bright and cheerful and involved so many more people than the night did. The one part of mornings that I enjoyed was that it unlike to everyone else, signaled the end of my day but not until I was relieved. So I had to make sure to stay awake and watch because I never knew what was going to happen.

Jack Kelly had just strolled in with his gang of Newsies, and there was some sort of bustle going on. It seemed that there was a fight, I squinted to see who Jack was fighting, and then running away from. I heard the whistling from somewhere in the square, another bird trying to make sure someone else was watching. I puckered my lips and gave a tweeting response never taking my focus away from the scene. Ugly bowler hats, hunched posture… Yes that would be the Delanacy Brothers. Jack pulled out some nice kicks and then took off running again, and slammed into a boy I had never seen before. I stared at the new boy and ignored Jack for a while. I was taking a mental picture of this new boy, he was average height and seemed normal build. I needed something, something distinct about him, to make sure I could tell who he was from any angle I might see him in. He was wearing blue and had hallow looking eyes, and some smaller kid stuck to him. I followed the new boy and the other newsies with my eyes into the selling docks.

I yawned some more and unfocused my gaze from the newsies to skim the surroundings. I spotted Laces, practically swooning at Jack. She really should learn to keep her distance better. She stuck out like a sweet potato in a potato salad standing next to the Horace Greenly statue like that. What was she doing there anyway? Squinting down at her, I studied how her hair was messier than usual and her shirt wasn't tucked all the way into her skirt. Was there gravel on her shoulder? Yes, she had been lying on a rooftop somewhere. Already she had been lying down on the job. Dragon was going to love hearing that. Laces provided me with a great way to deflect from my own shortcomings, always blame Laces. Every bird that tended to be any kind of trouble knew that rule.

Thinking of late running birds, where was my replacement? I wanted to find food and get some sleep. And Dragon I was sure, would want to see if I had anything to report. He hated it when I didn't have anything to report, he seemed to think I had fallen asleep and hadn't done what I was suppose to be doing. Dragon was suspicious of me most of the time, I had an air of trouble apparently and a flagrant disregard for authority, or at least that was something he always seems to include in his lectures. Though Dragon might just think that of any one of his birds that didn't tremble in his presence and jump at every command. No doubt that Dragon was from Brooklyn there, him and Conlon have the same God-given power to be reckoned with on any day.

I looked back down at the newsies. I frowned. The line for papes was at a stand still, unusual. Scanning the line for problems, I saw Skittery was leaning against his walking stick looking bored. Kid Blink and Bumlets were snickering something or someone and then I found it. New kid was already causing problems. He appeared to be arguing with Weasel. Jack got involved though with their backs to me I had no idea what was being argued about. Suddenly Racetrack flicked a shiny coin up in the air at Jack, what was going on? If I didn't find out what was happening I would get the "birds are suppose to know everything" lecture. I could basically recite that Dragon lecture so I didn't need to hear it again.

I scanned the area looking for another obvious bird. I knew Laces was not hiding under the distribution carriage today, so no luck of that informant. But I couldn't see anyone of our people inside the selling docks area. It was just me. So my attention settled back down on Jack and new boy. There seemed to be some kind of deal going on between the new kid and Jack Kelly. I knelt down to make out more of what was being said, if that was something that Dragon had taught me how to do, it was to read lips.

"You owe me two bits, I consider that an investment…" I read from Jack's lips.

"Well, if he's the best than why does he need me?" This new boy wasn't a sucker, Jack. I laughed. Of course not being able to convince the older boy, Jack turned his attention to making the deal with the smaller kid, who's name I didn't catch even though I was sure Jack had said it. Before the deal was struck though the older boy tried to convince Jack of an even deal. That was never going to happen new boy. I shook my head.

Selling partners, yes this would be something to report. I chuckled. Kelly was sure taking advantage of these new boys. 60/ 40 split? Newsies knew that a kid like the one stuck to the blue shirt boy was going to peddle at least a dozen for every bad headline and twice that for every great headline.

Blue shirt, as I might now call this new boy, made the deal. Though for whatever reason he had a problem with spit shaking, strange. I yawned again. I was going to pummel my replacement into the ground for being so late. Well that might not be true. Soaking someone took energy I didn't usually have until the sun set, so maybe I would just let Dragon deal with them. Carrying the banner, the newsies walked back out into the square. I watched, being able to see them clearer now that they weren't under the shadows of the selling docks gate.

Jack was giving some lesson on selling papers to… Dave. Yes, Jack was giving Dave a lecture about how to sell papers. Touting his age-old wisdom of how headlines don't sell papers, newsies do. Jack Kelly preached about importance of newsies. I got news for you Jack, birds are actually what holds this town together. Without the Brooklyn birds, no one knows nothing.

A fancy looking girl walked by the group of newsies and the boys fumbled to get their hats off. I noticed our new boy, Dave had curly hair. That fact might come in handy when tracking him. Though you never knew when a newsies was going to decide to go out without his hat.

"BABY BORN WITH THREE HEADS!" A boy in the group began to shout and then came the muffled shouting of all the boys.

No lecture for Tavern today, which meant I got to sleep sooner if whoever was replacing me was ever going to show up. Placing two of my fingers into the sides of my mouth I let out a ringing little tune informing whoever was near to watch the new boys, selling partners of Jack Kelly. I heard the whistling response from somewhere and hearing my cue I took off without another thought to the situation.

***whistles***

_**Bird on Watch: Filly**_

"Left. Left. Left, right, right, left." I dictated quietly to myself walking along the roof of the Brooklyn buildings that faced the docks. I blew a stream of smoke out of my mouth as I skipped from one roof to the other following the slow moving figure beneath me.

Then out of nowhere my target started to run. I tossed my cigarette down and started after him. Moving quickly and nimbly I scaled and slid my way up and down roofs and jumped gaps between buildings in my effort to keep up with him.

When he veered sharply I swung into the fire escape and threw myself in a run down the stairs hitting the ground ten flights later, and taking off along the street after my target, he stopped suddenly and looked around, moving backwards just a little, searching for anyone following him, before he turned and started to walk towards the docks.

I tailed him back to a large warehouse, and watched him enter it. I perched silently up and behind a stack of crates where I had a good view of the door and was completely hidden from sight.

A few minutes later a whistle floated up and I sat up. Waiting a second before I whistled in return with my hands going over my mouth making an almost twittering sound before I removed myself from the crates and walked towards the warehouse. As I opened the door to enter, two older boys appeared in my peripheral vision, I dropped my head and entered the warehouse, leaving the door open for the two boys.

Sitting on a ratty sofa was my target; he was rolling a cigarette and gestured for me to sit near him. The two boys behind me followed seconds later sitting on the opposite sofa to face Dragon Giammo and myself. Bookie and Linger, two of the tougher birds that I think were just itching to take over one day from Dragon were not my biggest fans. Well, that's not entirely true. Linger liked me just fine but Bookie might have tried to push me off a building before.

"So how do you think she went?" Dragon asked the other boys. This was going to be a conversation where the boy birds pretended I didn't exist, joy.

"She trailed you alright, managed not to loose you. Don't know how, the way she went down those stairs. You should have signaled for one of us to pick him up instead of moving from the roof tops." Bookie said striking a match grimly. Oh yeah, and then be told that I could have handled it by myself? Yes, that is exactly what I should have done. I crossed my arms protectively, as I knew that Linger might just back Bookie up.

"She might just about be ready Dragon. I think with a little more training she would make a good owl." Linger nodded to there boss.

"With a little more training? I didn't lose him and I wasn't seen the entire shift! So what if I took the fire escape, I didn't lose him." I scowled.

"But what if he'd taken a turn instead of going straight?" Bookie said with a belligerent and frankly mocking display of mistrust. Not like he had a reason to not trust me, I hadn't even told Dragon that he had tried to kill me. Though, Bookie claims it was a mistake. I don't believe the stupid bloke. But birds, we have to trust each other, at least a little bit so here I was sitting and listening to his East River trash advice.

"Well he didn't, that's why I took the fire escape, cause I knew I could catch him. Besides he knows the calls, if I'd signaled to one of you he would have taken evasive action." I spat back with that same belligerence as Bookie. I glared into Bookie's dark brown eyes with a spark of annoyance that could be mistaken for hatred. Two can play the squawking game.

"A little more training it is." Dragon said sticking his cigarette between his lips and lighting it. Of course he was going to take their side.

"Dragon! I succeeded at keeping an eye on you all night!" I insisted.

"A good owl is one that lives to see another day. You were too interested in doing it all yourself to weigh up the dangers you faced. Being an owl is a completely different job then being, a bird Filly. It's dangerous in Brooklyn at night. That's why girls don't often get to be owls." Dragon had his leader, don't challenge me face on.

"With the exception of Laces, who gets to do whatever she wants." I glowered, ignoring his face. Before Dragon could brow snap back at me, Tavern stumbled into the room. Dragon's attention shifted from me completely.

"Speaking of Laces, " Tavern smiled.

"What did she do? And why are you so late getting back?" Dragon had snapped open a beat up pocket watch. I moved to get up because I really wanted to find a bed to sleep on. But Dragon flicked his hand onto my shoulder quicker than I could even blink. Dragon had known I would want to move before I even realized I wanted to move. That was Dragon Giammo. He could tell you your whole life story before you even said hello the first time.

"Let's start with what Laces did…" Dragon suggested. He knew that his favorite little wayward bird might present a more clear and present problem than why Tavern was late getting back to the nest. Smart man, though anyone who was brave enough would tell Dragon it was his own fault Laces was so wayward to begin with. No one was ever going to be that brave, except for Critter O'Connell, himself but Laces always behaved for him.

He wasn't the leader of the Brooklyn Birds without reason. Dragon was not only a tough, Brooklyn raised rough around the edges Italian. He solved his problems the same way the founder of the birds had done so - instilling fear, doling out punishments and only asking questions after the fact. Critter O'Connell had trained his successor well, but if I had to choose who I was more scared of Critter, wins hands down. That man can glare at you from across the Brooklyn Bridge and you would get a chill before running for your life.

As I fidgeted under Dragon's hand that was pressed firmly into my shoulder, I looked around our large nest. There were two kinds of birds. Those who perched close to their home. Who kept their eyes on goings on of that area and kept themselves away of any changes or anything brewing, they had contacts, they had connections to their life there, and ways of getting information without being suspected.

Then there were the birds that lived in the nest. Birds that were usually designated to watch one person or another, according to what the need was and the time of day they showed for work. Most often the nesters were orphans and runaways, no better, no worse then the perched birds, just without a place to live or a family to consider.

That's why Dragon always said, 'Once a bird, always a bird.' Even when birds moved on, married or took new careers, their heart was that of a bird, some of them maintained there roots by being a perched bird, while some retired, and returned when their experience was desperately needed, cause when the birds needed help, no-one was ever retired. Me, obviously, I was a nester who really wanted her hanging little hammock and a blanket. At least I would settle for a cigarette, Dragon couldn't keep me from doing that!

"Laces didn't do anything, Tavern just likes to cry wolf." Pockets jumped over the backing of the couch and plopped down next to me. He was already holding a match, probably having noticed my discomfort from before.

I happily started puffing away at my cigarette while Dragon release my shoulder from his grasp. His crushing hand went back to rolling his cigarette in that pensive manner that should scare whoever is trying to talk to him.

"Tavern, I'm in no mood for your childish need to blame Laces right now. I was up all night with Filly here and I had to wrestle Laces out of bed this morning so she's on thin ice as it is." Dragon warned. This was one of his infamous bird testing moments. The kind that just sort of crept up on you. Dragon wasn't really at the end of his rope with anyone, yes a bit tired and cranky but not actually anything out of the ordinary. He wanted to see if Tavern would push Laces out of the nest, to use bird terms. There are three unbreakable rules to being a bird. One was everything is important, so be attentive. Two was don't get caught. And last but most important to Dragon, birds were family that was to be protected, trusted and as a bird you must always be loyal to each other. Without that key point, we were doomed at least according to Dragon.

Tavern swallowed unsure exactly how to answer. Pockets, seeing the problem, saved his fellow owl and smacked a Journal onto the table in front of us with some force. All the eyes ventured to look down.

"Nude Corpse on rails not connected to Trolley Strike." Pockets said nonchalantly. You had to admire the boy's guts, but Pockets was a plow right in and don't look type. I frowned down at the title, how did that have anything to do with the stupid Trolley strike?

"I bet Jacky boy is wishing he sold the Journal and not the World today. That's a fast selling headline." Linger had taken the paper and flipped it to stare at the fuzzy picture that had been used repeatedly by all the papers for weeks concerning the strike.

"That nude corpse was found outside the city, it wasn't even near the Trolley workers." Bookie snorted.

"Well the point of papers isn't for truth, any Newsie will tell you that what kind of bird are you?" Tavern spat at Bookie. I grinned, Tavern wasn't a big fan of Bookie's either which made for great entertainment for me.

"What's new?" Dragon's face tilted up to stare at Tavern. Our leader was definitely not happy he had to ask for his update.

"Besides the headline war that Joe's losing to Will?" Pockets scratched his blond locks as he smiled innocently at Dragon. Dragon ignored him. Good choice boss.

"Jack's made a selling partner deal with this pair of brothers. They are new and definitely not street kids. The older one has curly hair, wearing a blue shirt today. He's named David. He's smarter than Jack is use to, didn't settle for the 70-30 deal. The younger brother, unknown name, who carries around a wooden sword, finally convinced the older one to take the 60-30 deal. Jack's going to make a fortune though the younger boy has got one of those give me quarters faces." Tavern suggested and shrugged before trotting off.

"Pockets, tonight you're going to watch the Trolley strikers with Filly here. So both of you go get some rest." Dragon commanded. I readily got to my feet, finally my hammock. I had been starring at it longingly from across the room.

"What about the newsies?" Pockets asked.

"Never you mind them." Dragon responded as I walked away trying to ignore the conversations around me. As a bird, turning off the constant need to pay attention to everything is hard.

"Linger, go find out about this David and his kid brother. I want to know everything about them, from birthdays to favorite colors." I heard Dragon command before I closed my eyes and let sleep take over.

* * *

Remember friends: more birds needed! So if you're interested in writing your own bird's eye view of the movie send me a message! Otherwise let us know what you think of the story so far!


	4. Improving the Truth

**Improving The Truth **

**By Brockie **

_Bird On Watch: Mouse _

I had been watching this boxing match since round one, and now it was round fifty-six. It wasn't so bad. When the fight had first started, it was actually kind of exciting. I know what you're thinking, it's strange that a girl likes fighting, isn't it? Especially a girl like _you_, Mouse, since you're so shy and quiet all the time. Well, who says a girl can't have a little excitement once and awhile?

It was Dragon who sent me to perch at the boxing ring in the first place, so really I'm just following orders. Plus, I got here early. Way before I needed to be here, so really, it wasn't like I was being distracted from my job. I got bored of the fight by round thirteen anyway.

I glanced around the market place surrounding the boxing ring, but there wasn't a Manhattan newsie in sight. A few of them had wandered through a little while ago, but they hadn't done anything worth noting besides advertise false headlines. Apple sellers, the girls selling strawberries, the boys selling milk, and the match sellers were around constantly, but they weren't as important. There was only one newsie I really had to be on the look-out for, anyway.

And then I saw him. Jack Kelly. Strutting his stuff and hollering headlines like he worked for the World himself. He sold a few papers before making his way to a seat right in front of the boxing ring. Not unusual. Jack was known for slacking off during the job, although unlike most of his fellow newsies, Jack could actually afford that luxury.

Several people clustered just in front of my line of vision, so I slipped out of my seat to get a closer look at Jack. Closer, but not too close. There was no way I was going to get myself caught, not when Dragon had just started to trust me to go out on my own.

I kept close behind people and stopped just at the edge of the seats. I peeked out from behind a large business man and realized that Jack wasn't selling alone. That _was _unusual. I squinted to make sure it wasn't a mistake, but sure enough, there was a boy in a blue button-down shirt and brown vest talking to Jack. Not just idle, passing-by conversation either. They were definitely selling together.

The most unusual thing about it was that I'd never seen this boy before. Although I hadn't been around as long as some of the other birds had, I knew all of the Manhattan newsies (or I knew their faces, at the very least), and I was _certain_ that this boy was new. He had that look about him, too. That 'I've-never-walked-on-the-streets-of-Manhattan-without-my-parents' look. Why on Earth would Jack decide to sell with _him_? Newsies didn't sell together very often in the first place, and Jack certainly didn't need a selling partner for any reason.

I risked going closer and ducked behind an elderly woman when Jack looked up. When I peeped out again, my questions were answered. A young boy, maybe eight or nine, had appeared in between Jack and the new boy and was talking eagerly to Jack. _He's that new boy's brother_, I reasoned. Jack was just borrowing the boy for his little brother. That made sense.

Everyone benefited from selling with a poor, innocent little boy, even Jack. Young boys with big, round innocent eyes could draw people in better than anything, even a wink and a charming smile.

When I looked back, the little boy had gone (probably to stare pitifully and sniffle at people until they felt so guilty they bought a paper) and it was just Jack and the new boy. Jack was looking at him, slightly bemused, but the new boy didn't look happy. Jack was probably swindling him out of whatever he made selling somehow. As if the new boy _really_ needed the money. This was probably just a side job, or something. Just an activity to get him and his younger brother out of the house in order to give his parents some peace and quiet. He was much too clean to actually _need_ a job.

I moved forward again, managing to squeeze next to another set of bleachers almost directly behind Jack and the new boy. A little too close, probably, but this was Jack Kelly, after all. And what kind of bird would I be if I didn't fly close to the ground every once and awhile? Everyone had to take risks, right? That was part of the job.

I shook my head. _Focus, Mouse, focus._ I tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear and concentrated my thoughts back on the two boys ahead. Well, three now. The little boy had returned to Jack and the new boy, and he was definitely the new boy's younger brother. That was just what the Manhattan newsies needed, another little boy to steal their customers away.

The new boy leaned in toward Jack and pointed across the boxing ring suddenly, and I saw Jack turn stiff. I followed the boy's finger and squinted through the crowd. Then I saw why he had gone rigid. Warden Snyder. I shivered, although I had no reason to. I wasn't a bad kid, or at least, I wasn't _that_ bad. Jack, though, he had a reason to be nervous.

Nervous enough to run, apparently. I barely registered that Jack had yelled anything before he had leapt onto the boxing ring and crossed through the fight, the new boy and his younger brother following close behind.

I was going to lose them.

If I stayed where I was, Jack and the new boy and his brother would be gone. If I left where Dragon had perched me, I could follow them and find out…well, who knew what I could find out? A secret passage way? An underground cult?

I had no time to decide. I bit my lip and bounced on my tiptoes. _Go. Don't go. Go. Don't go._ But before I knew what I was doing, I was weaving my way through the crowd, barely brushing their sides. Dragon was definitely going to kill me for this.

I could just see a glimpse of Jack's signature red bandana up ahead, but I had to move quickly to keep it in sight. There was Warden Snyder to worry about, too. As long as I stayed a little behind him, I would be alright, since he was obviously focused on Jack, but if I got too close he might notice me instead. A girl running through alleyways was a little suspicious, after all.

We all rounded the corner of an apartment building before I saw them run into it and up a flight of stairs. I stopped dead in my tracks and leaned against the side wall of the building. _Stupid! _ I couldn't follow them into a building. I would get caught for sure. I slid all the way down the wall so my knees were at my chest. How could I have been so idiotic and irresponsible? I should have stayed where Dragon had put me. There wouldn't have been any risk in that. I would have been following orders, just like I was supposed to. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ _And_ I had forgotten to signal that I was leaving my perch. All I had to do was whistle, wave, _something_, but I had just ran after them without a word. I was going to be in _so_ much trouble.

I tilted my head back so it leaned against the brick and closed my eyes. Maybe I just wouldn't tell Dragon what happened. I could pretend I _had_ just stayed at the boxing ring, instead of following Jack. Nothing that exciting could have happened while I was gone, right? Right?

A loud yell shook me abruptly from my thoughts. I looked around, down the side of the building and into the street, but no one seemed to be hurt or in trouble. The strange thing about it was, the yell seemed to have come from the top of the building. I looked up, and frowned, but there was nothing but the blue-gray sky and clouds above. Not a moment later, I heard another yell, but this one was actually yelling words.

"Sullivan! Wait 'till I get you back to the Refuge!"

Warden Snyder? He had to have been on top of the building. But who was he yelling at? Who was this 'Sullivan'? I had thought he was chasing Jack, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe it was actually the new boy Snyder was after. That was really the only other answer, unless he had stumbled across another trouble maker in the building. Or maybe 'Sullivan' was the new boy's brother. I shook my head again. There wasn't really any use analyzing it right now. I would tell Dragon what I had heard, and maybe he could figure it out. It was something, at least.

I began to head back toward the boxing ring again (as if anything more interesting was going to happen today) when something large and heavy thudded to the ground behind me. My heart skipped a beat as I flattened myself against the wall. I looked to where the thud had come from and discovered Jack Kelly, crouched on the ground, peering around the corner of the building. Thankfully, I was invisible to him. I held my breath as he glanced upward, and I followed the direction of his gaze. Up about twenty feet on a fire escape were the new boy and his brother. The ladder had been slid down and the new boy had just started to climb down. I wondered how I hadn't heard the clanking of the ladder, and thanked my lucky stars that I wasn't in any danger because of my lack of hearing.

The new boy and his little brother had both jumped down from the ladder and were standing behind Jack. He had lit himself a cigarette and motioned for them to follow him out into the street, and I hazarded to do the same. As I reached the edge of the building where they had been, I only caught a glimpse of Jack's red bandana disappearing into another building a little further down the street. I certainly couldn't follow them now. I remembered to signal, this time, and sent a high-pitched whistle in the direction of the building the two boys had disappeared into. I didn't hear anything for a moment, but then another whistle came back to me. At least someone knew where they were now. They weren't my problem any more.

I sighed and turned around back down the alley. As I headed back to the boxing ring again, I replayed everything in my mind again and again. I had no idea whether or not what I had seen was of any use, I just hoped I wouldn't get in _too_ much trouble with Dragon for disobeying orders…


	5. My Lovely Dovey Baby

My Lovely Dovey Baby

By Stress

**Bird On Watch: Shadow**

It was getting to be late afternoon, maybe early, I ain't too sure, but I admit it: I was slacking off. Dragon had let me go off this morning to do what I do, take in the sights and find out what I could about these Manhattan newsies. It was something I mostly liked to do, something I was good at, and I was one hell of a bird, if I do say so myself. They call me Shadow, see, on account of this knack of mine to blend into the background which, you can figure, goes a long way with doing my work.

When I did it right, that is.

It was on Dragon Giammo's orders that I was on this side of the Bridge, though that might've been because he told me that Spot Conlon didn't want to see my mug in Brooklyn anymore. I couldn't really understand why—it might be a little dusty, but it ain't half bad—but you didn't cross Conlon like you didn't cross Dragon. It was one of those things you learn after about half a minute out on the streets. Leave the big guys alone and you're golden. Find something out about them that they don't want anyone else to know, and you're even better.

Now that I think about it, that might just be why Spot's not too happy with me. But, hey, how was I supposed to know that that girl wasn't _his_ girl?

I shrugged, taking a short puff off my hand-rolled cigarette. It wasn't a real drag, more like a quick breath that I spit back out. I wasn't a real big smoker, it was something I just did for the look of it. A dark-eyed, dark-haired kid in a cap and a pair of trousers with a hole in the knee could be noticeable if he was just standing around. Add a cigarette, a frown and lean up against the bricks and, there you go, invisible. Part of the shadows. Just the way I like it.

Because my normal perch back in Brooklyn was being watched over by a fellow bird, it was up to me to find a good spot in Manhattan to roost at. For the last few days I scoped out the city, meeting up with some other Manhattan birds like Tavern and Mouse, before finally settling on watching over the stage entrance to Irving Hall. It was a good spot, I could see all sorts of bums that tried to sneak into the Hall, and it had a great nook just inside a near alley across the street that let me see out but didn't let anyone spy me. It was the perfect spot for me to sit back, pretend to enjoy my smoke and just _watch_. And if I got an eyeful of some of those actresses… well, all the better.

Of course, the just watching part of this afternoon, evening, whatever it was… it didn't last too long. Breaking up my peace, I watched as the one and only Jack Kelly his self ran right up to the back entrance, followed by a curly-haired guy wearing a blue shirt and a brown vest that was obviously too neat for the streets and a younger kid with a sword that was watching Cowboy like he was the greatest thing that ever lived. A shrill whistle sounded just as they arrived; I recognized it, too. Another bird had marked them and was passing this trio off to me. I had to give them credit—I didn't think anyone knew I was here. That was the birds for you.

My smoke stopped halfway to my mouth as I took in the scene. The guy in blue looked angry but I could tell that Kelly was already turning on his charm. I could see his mouth going from my hideaway in the alley. Another minute later, the three of them slipped inside the door I'd been eyeing. I waited a tick to see if they'd be tossed right out but the door stayed closed. They stayed in.

The way I see it, it's one thing to take a breather and not go looking for news; it was another to pretend that it didn't happen right in front of me. There was only one thing I could do: I dropped my cigarette, stubbed it out with the toe of my shoe and started toward the real entrance. I don't know exactly how Kelly managed to get inside—though I had a pretty good idea—but I would never make it past the back door myself. If I wanted to see where the head of the Manhattan newsies was going, I had to do it another way.

Besides, and some of the other birds might disagree with me on this, but I find that there's no better way to watch without being caught than by being one of the crowd.

Irving Hall was like every other vaudeville joint in the city: dark, smoky, loud. I walked inside easily. In a place like this I didn't need to be so careful not to be seen because all eyes were always glued to the stage. For just a moment I glanced in the same direction but no one was there yet; the stage was hidden, the curtain drawn. I wondered where the performer was before correcting myself and wondering where the hell Jack Kelly had gotten to.

Careful not to step on too many toes, I worked my way through the crowd of men and some women clamoring for the famed Medda Larkson, the Swedish Meadowlark, to come to the stage. I kept my head down enough not to be noticed, staring unblinkingly through the crowd as I searched out Kelly. His trademark red bandana was something to be noticed, red in a sea of browns and blacks, but I couldn't find it. And then I had a thought.

Jack and those two boys had snuck into the Hall by the stage door. What if that's where they stayed, backstage?

The curtain went up just as I made my way to the front. With her red hair all done up and her purple dress hugging her tight, Medda strode out towards center stage—and there, I spied, standing in the wings to the right, there was Jack Kelly and the formerly sour-pussed, curly-haired kid in his blue shirt. Hanging on the ropes, drooling over the singer and the oversized feather she waggled suggestively at the crowd, the two boys—where did the little kid go? Oh, there he was, at Kelly's feet—they never even saw me standing here.

I kept one eye on Medda Larkson as she performed her number—something about a lovey-dovey baby and a coochie-coo for someone that wasn't me—and the other on the wings, making my new perch on the far side of the stage. It was the perfect spot to keep Cowboy and his pal in my sight, so I settled in and did what Dragon would've wanted me to do. That's right. Dragon would've wanted me to take in a vaudeville show all in the name of watching over Jack Kelly.

I don't know how long we stayed inside the Hall but it had to be awhile. I watched Medda's entire set, followed by another dolled up dame in a big, poufy gown who sang just as sweet, before I realized that I was paying more attention to the vaudeville singer than I was to the Manhattan boys I should be watching. I turned back to the wings and, wouldn't you know it, they were gone.

Damn it.

They must've gone back out the way they came, I figured, and I was pushing my way back out towards the entrance before I even noticed I was even moving. That was what being a bird was, it was moving and going and always trying to know what in the world was going on—without needing _The World_ to know it, either. I might've bumped into a couple of fellows during my flight but, like my namesake, I was gone before they felt the hit. Just another shadow.

It was dark out, darker than I would've expected for how long I felt I was really inside, and I was cursing myself for losing sight of my target. I couldn't really see much ahead of me despite the fancy lamps out front of the Hall, I couldn't spot Cowboy's bandana now, and I ran around to the side entrance first if only because that was where I saw Jack Kelly and some of his boys go inside. It was the only lead I had, and I damn well wasn't about to go back to Brooklyn and tell Dragon and the other birds that I spied Kelly but lost him before I learned anything more about him and his motives.

I might've been slacking off more than I should've, smoking in that alleyway, but I wasn't about to let no one think I was getting rusty.

For a moment losing Jack Kelly was my biggest concern—and that was when I heard it. It started off slow then built up to a roar, a loud humming made up of cries and screams and grunts. Pulling my cap down, sliding past a frazzled-looking man who came scurrying from that direction, I followed my instincts. Whatever was making that noise… _that_ was the sort of report Dragon needed to hear about.

There was horses and fire, hooting, hollering, punches being thrown and dodged. It was a riot, all right, heading right down the street; Jack and them were running right toward it. I started forward myself, stopping when the riot sped up and arrived at the cross streets just as I did. The boys had more brains than I would've given them credit for and they dashed away before they were swallowed up by the crowd.

I watched the fights, saw the cops that were swept along, trying to break it up as they went. One of the rioters was carrying a picket sign that read: Trolley Strike—Unfair to Workers. Ah, so that's what it was. The trolley strikers were rearing up again. I shook my head. Scabs should've known better than to cross the strike lines. If they were the ones getting walloped, they deserved it.

I heard a whistle then, my head followed the sound and, in the light of the fire, I glimpsed two of my comrades standing as close to the riot without getting involved themselves, observing the commotion with a intense gaze, remembering everything so they could report back to Dragon later. There was Filly, and Tavern next to her. I lifted my hat up, whistled back a short whistle to let them know I saw them and that I was giving up the riot in pursuit of the Manhattan newsies I'd already been chasing; the other two birds obviously had the trolley workers in order. Filly waved her hand back, Tavern nodded once and I was gone before Jack, carrying the small boy over his shoulder, had gotten too far away.

The dark was my cover and I kept to the shadows, just in case Kelly or the other fella looked behind them and realized I was following them. Before long the noise of the trolley worker's riot faded into the familiar sounds of a big city at night. I looked out for another bird or two maybe to pass these guys off to but I was on my own. Which, if I was being honest, was the way I liked it.

Chasing after them brought me in front of a tenement that I wasn't sure I recognized. It wasn't the lodging house for the Manhattan newsboys, I knew that, so I decided it had to belong to the other two boys. I marked the boy in blue and the runt as brothers almost as soon as I first saw them, maybe newcomers to hawking headlines that Jack could use, and this had to be their place. I was probably right too, since it was the curly-haired boy that led Jack, with the brother still sleeping over his shoulder, into the building.

What goes up must come down. What goes in must come out. Drawing a creased cigarette from a pocket inside of my vest, I slipped it between my lips and started to look for a match. I was ready to wait, ready to take my place against another brick wall and wait for Jack Kelly to appear back on the streets.

It just wasn't my day. Like this afternoon, luck wasn't on my side. I wasn't going to just get to stand and wait and watch and maybe half-smoke another hand-rolled. Right when I was pulling my cap down low, sucking on an unlit cigarette, my night became a lot wetter than I would've liked.

It was raining all of a sudden, quick, damp drops that broke up the summer swelter. On a whim—because there wasn't anything else I could do but wait—I removed my cap and tilted my face back. The water splashed and revived me, bringing relief to the sticky night. After giving a few quick swipes at my cheeks, I got my day's wash in before putting my cap back onto rain-drenched hair and tapping it back into place.

And then I went back to waiting. Again.

I still didn't see any other birds around here. I left Filly and Tavern back at the riot to take note of what was going on in the streets. The way I saw it, I'd been following Jack Kelly and his pals for this long, what was a little longer on their trail going to do?

Slipping back into the shadows, I stared up at the building, counting the windows under my breath. Some had candles in them, others were dark and that made my job easier. Now, which window was the one I wanted?

The rainwater ran down my back and I found myself wishing that I was inside one of those apartments rather than lurking outside of the building. My newest perch outside this apartment didn't give me much cover and, after a few minutes with only the raindrops as company, I made a decision.

I was going up.

Thanks to the rain, the fire escape was slick. I nearly lost my footing a couple times, cursing Dragon and Critter and every other damn bastard who thought it was a good idea to be a nosy bum. But I was a bird and you couldn't be a bird if you weren't even the least bit interested in knowing what was going on at all times. So, yeah, I was curious and, because of that, I kept on climbing.

It only took me up a couple of flights before a sneaky glance inside a closed window with a thin curtain revealed Jack Kelly sitting at a round table. He wasn't alone, either. The curly-haired kid was there, and a pretty girl with long dark hair sitting next to Jack, a blonde woman that had to be someone's mother and, at the head of the table, a man with a thick mustache and his arm in a sling.

It was a family, a family meal and Cowboy was a guest. Seeing that, that alone was worth the climb up here. Who would've guessed that one of the leaders of the street would spend his evenings out of the rain, supping with a real family?

Lucky bastard.

Leaning in, I peered in through the window, watching when I thought it was safe and ducking away from the window when I thought one of the diners might've caught me spying. I almost got caught once when the blonde woman went to check on the boy in bed in between checking on supper. It was a tiny apartment, beds fit where they could be fit, and she had this bed partway between the kitchen—where Jack Kelly sat with the family—and the window that overlooked the fire escape—the landing where I was perched. I dared a peek in and over when the woman was kissing the kid's forehead but I dodged to the side before she could catch me standing just outside the window.

Keeping my back against the wall, I tried to listen to what was going on inside past the window. The slowing rain was making it tough, even more muffled, but I could've sworn I heard one of those vaudeville tunes. I shook my head, trying to clear it. I was working now—I had to leave the music back at Irving Hall.

It was getting risky, staying out on the fire escape, and I felt like I had enough information that my afternoon wasn't too wasted running around Manhattan. Daring one last look inside, I saw that the woman and the girl were cleaning up after their meal. Jack and the other boy—I think I heard the shrill woman call him David—were standing up and, _crap_, they were coming right towards the window.

Like the bird I was at heart, I all but flew back down the fire escape. The rain had stopped while I was watching the family eat but the rails were just as slick. I was better prepared though and, this time, I didn't slip until I was on the last couple of rungs.

I landed in a patch of mud, the dirty water spraying my old boots. I scowled, they would be caked with the stuff come morning, but I felt good about a couple of things. I had a report for Dragon, caught a good show, got a peep at Jack Kelly cozying up to a girl and managed to wash a bit of the dust off my face. All in all, not bad for a day's work.

A day's work for a bird, that is.


	6. Santa Fe

**6. Santa Fe**

**By Scree **

**Bird on Watch: Mischief**

Most birds were up at the crack of dawn, tracking whoever they were supposed to or watching from the city rooftops. They worked all day, and once their replacement was there, they flew back to the nest and slept until they had to go back. But then there were the owls, like me. I didn't track people like my fellow birds did, but I kept watch over the city in the night hours. Sure, sometimes you'd get bored without someone to speak to or watch down in the streets below the buildings, and yes it got kind of lonely, but it did give you time to think.

Tonight I had gotten placed in a new spot; I originally stood watch a block or so away from where I was now, but I go where Dragon points. Apparently, Jacky-boy made a couple of friends only that morning; or so I had heard from Linger and the others. David Jacobs was his name. He had a little brother, Les, a sister, Sarah, who worked as a laundry girl, a father, Meyer, who had recently gotten hurt in an accident at the factory he worked at, putting his right arm in a sling, and a mother. Our ranks had yet to find out the mother's name though I'm sure that someone had found out by now. I knew that Meyer's birthday was tomorrow, Davids' was the fourteenth of November, Les' was the twenty fourth of March, and Sarahs' was the twenty fourth of August. Why were their birthdays important? In my point of view, they aren't. But apparently Dragon thinks they are.

So here I sat, shivering in the cool air in a pool of rainwater, watching as the house below me remained on the whole silent and calm. I had watched Shadow let his curiosity get the best of him as he got closer than I ever would to the scene inside the apartment. I held my breath every time the idiot poked his head up to peek inside. I am shocked that none of the Jacobs' or even Kelly himself looked over once. Luck, I guess that's what it's all about in the world of the birds. Shadow was lucky and curious, though by the time I watched him land feet first into a puddle of mud I was beginning to think Shadow was much more catlike than bird like. It ain't my place to figure out what we are though, I am just here to watch.

I hadn't planned on seeing Kelly enter the building with the two Jacobs' boys, but that just added more importance to my being here.

Flicking my long black hair out of my eyes with my pale hand, I heard a sharp noise, which I assumed was a window opening. So I silently peaked over the edge of the roof from where I crouched, my sharp eyes finding two older boys beneath me.

Just as I figured; Jack and David. They stood out on the fire escape in silence for a little while, looking up at the sky. Well? What, did they decide to have a nice little star gazing tournament? Find out who'd find the best constellation? They really were dulling me to sleep. Not watching anything was more entertaining than watching people. At least I now knew why all the birds complained about their job. At least I thought that's what they complained about.

"So how did yoah pop get hoit?" Jack finally asked, glancing to the blue clad boy at his side.

"Uhh, the factory. There was an accident." David answered after a few seconds, his eyes leaving Jack's to stare at the ground far below him before looking back to Jack, "He's no good to them any more so they just fired him."

Things were ticking in my mind. I already knew this information. This was something I didn't need to save in the files of my mind. Though it was lucky that the boys beneath me didn't feel the need to whisper and with no one else out tonight their voices carried nicely.

"He's got no union to protect him." David added in. Boy was that an understatement. People were getting fired left and right, and for what reason? Because they didn't work hard enough? Nope, they worked just fine. Their employers decided they didn't like them, or want them anymore. We were reading it in the papers and we were seeing it first hand.

"David?" A softer voice said from somewhere behind them, and peaking over a bit more, I saw an older man with his right arm in a sling. Meyer, I supposed, "It's time to come in now."

"Alright." David started toward the door, and Jack patted him on the back, muttering a "night" as he went for the fire escape stairs.

"Jack." David said, stopping just outside the window, "Why don't you stay here tonight?"

Aw, how sweet. Ol' Jacky-boys found himself a good friend. Poor David was in for a rude awakening. Jack wasn't always the best of friends. He often said crude things and stuff like that. But hey, if Davey was willing to give him a chance... No, I didn't dislike Jack. I just hated the way he acted sometimes. He acted like... how to say it? Like he knew everything? Like he was all-important? Egotistical jerks like Conlon I could deal with, but I wouldn't be able to live with Jack as my leader at all. But it wasn't my place to have much of an opinion on the leaders that I didn't serve. I wasn't like some of my fellow birds, Laces who got under Spot's skin on purpose and watched Jack adoringly. Or like Runner who only liked dealing with Brooklyn and Spot himself. I didn't form attachments to Manhattan or Brooklyn, or to any of the fleeting situations that we kept such surveillance on.

"Uh, no, thanks." Jack said after a few seconds of hesitation, "I got my own place... But your family's real nice, Dave. Like mine."

That, I knew, was a lie. Hey, what could I say? We birds and owls heard about quite a few things, and although Kelly's secret wasn't common knowledge even among many birds but it was in our collected knowledge. I had been around long enough to gain enough trust to be told one of the few secrets we kept from even each other. I could name the birds that I thought knew the information about Jack and his past on one finger, granted not even I was privy to the who else was in that inner circle. That was for Dragon and Spot to know, not the rest of us. The story, as understood from being watched by birds was that Jack Kelly's father was in prison and his mother was dead. Not a sad story if you asked me. I'd actually say he was lucky. After all, some kids never knew their parents, and others like me for example, just weren't wanted.

Apparently, Jack wanted to make others think he had a family to go home to so bad, he'd lie to some of his best friends.

"See you tomorrow." David said, sticking his hand out to Jack, who took it.

The next few words that left David's mouth were drowned out by light footsteps a few feet behind me. With a slight tense of my muscles, my hand went to my pocket where I kept a knife as I whirled around, still in my crouched position. Once my eyes had focused on the figure before me, I relaxed as my heartbeat went back to normal.

"Jesus, Skaggs. Ya nearly gave me a heart attack." I growled, glaring up at the younger boy who stood low in front of me. Skaggs was only about twelve years old, two years younger than me, and somewhat short for his age. He had very short black hair and eyes that were constantly changing colors. Now, they were a hazely green as he smiled down at me.

"I'm surprised ya didn't hear me earlier, Mischief." He muttered to me, coming to crouch at my side as we both peaked over the edge of the roof to watch Jack slowly make his way down the fire escape, "I kicked something back there. Thought that'd gimmie away."

I hadn't heard him? I must really be out of it tonight... I'm usually better than that.

"You're loosin' your touch, Alexyandra." Skaggs chuckled, his eyes never leaving Jack.

Taking my eyes from my target, something I knew I shouldn't be doing, I gave Skaggs a glare. I had known the younger boy most of my life, we had both become birds about the same time which now seemed almost a lifetime ago. He knew more about me than I cared for him, including my real name.

"Don't call me that, Danny." I snarled, before I once again turned to watch Jack making his way toward a street. Standing up, but still hunched over, I began to follow Jack. Ignoring Skaggs as best I could.

"Hold it, there." Skaggs grabbed my arm, which I wanted to pull away. Didn't I need to follow Jack? "I have some news ya better hear."

Raising my eyebrow, I motioned for Skaggs to hurry up. Jack was getting farther and father away.

"First, I'm following Jack. Youse stay watchin' the Jacobs'." Skaggs told me, his eyes flicking over my shoulder to follow Jack, "And you might just have ta take on a birds job soon."

With that, he bolted off silently to follow Jack, leaving me gawking into the misty air.

Perfect. Sometimes Dragon had these inklings, feelings about the wind or whatever you want to call it. The leader of the birds could feel storms brewing and when they were approaching he put us all on edge. Also he tended to overwork us in these situations, like tonight. It was Skaggs second shift in the day, so I wasn't going to have much of a choice in the matter. I took a deep breath and whistled trying to get more information about my shift. I heard a distance tweet behind me in the shadows.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. I counted five tweets that meant I was to stay until at least sunrise this morning. Another low whizzing type whistle blew from somewhere below me and I nodded into the dark night. That meant that I would be informed if I had to stay sooner to morning. Dragon would put me on the morning shift too, I could bet on it. Flopping down in the cool water of the roof, I glared at the apartments. I hated it when things didn't just stay quiet.

***whistles***

**Bird On Watch: Skaggs**

I sat panting behind a few crates, watching Jack kicking up dirt like he was dancing with air as I caught my breath. He seemed annoyed about something, though I couldn't be sure what it was that might have upset him. Even though I was a bird and an owl, I still wasn't used to following such fast people. I usually had targets that didn't run like Kelly, few birds really followed Kelly on a regular basis. I had almost lost him but I listened to the directions from my fellow night owls around me, unseen but always watching. They guided me here, behind this crate right in front of a Pawn Shop. I could practically smell the rotting Italian food from the day from the little eatery next to me.

Apparently Jack was frustrated tonight maybe all that family time had really tightened that hat string around his neck. I heard the other birds informing me that he was mumbling an awful lot about Santa Fe.

I was exhausted. I had only gotten a few hours of sleep before I had to come out into the cold and follow Jack around. Where the heck did he get that energy? First, he had to sell all day, and then he had run from Snyder or so I had heard. I had run into Shadow on my way into Manhattan from the nest, he was trotting along exhausted from his chase earlier. So how did Jack still have any energy left?

I couldn't think about this long because once again, he was on the move. Jumping onto a brown and white horse that belonged to a passing rodeo show- they had only arrived a few days ago, and were now going to have a missing horse when they left in four days. I had noticed the rodeo as had many of the other Manhattan birds and owls, because we often passed this street at least once a day in our following the newsboys around. This was after all one of the main routes to and from the selling docks to the Manhattan Newsboys Lodging House. I took extra note tonight, red wagon and six men that saw Kelly take the horse? I had to count fast, I was sure I might have missed something. I hoped that someone had paid attention to that rodeo more than I had tonight. I'd have to ask Mischief or some of the others stationed here in Manhattan soon. I let out a grunt as I forced my tired body to move as fast as the stupid horse that Jack was now riding. I stumbled over my own feet, quite a bit but at least I reckoned I knew where the guy was going. Wasn't he just going to get back to the lodging house? I knew which way that was.

I veered quickly down a short alleyway, loosing Jack as I made my way through the mazes of alleys that New York was so famous for. Left... right... left... dead end? I cursed aloud. Wrong way. I was loosing way too much time. Running back the way I had come, I took the right way and found myself just across the street from the lodging house. Everything looked so similar in this part of town, I swear there were at least two Crockery Glass and China stores within a two-block walk of each other.

Letting out a sigh of relief as Jack got off the horse to let his wander away. I wondered if one of the other owls would watch to see if the horse wandered his way back to the rodeo. Were horses like dogs? They knew where their masters were? That was besides my purpose, I watched Jack at the light post looking reflective.

"So that's what they call a family." I heard him whisper to himself. I was right! I knew it was too much for a guy like Jack to spend a night with a real family. Though before I watched him make his way into the lodging house with Racetrack, I swear I heard something else about Santa Fe. I strained to listen to any other conversation that might happen before my target disappeared into the warmth of the lodging house, but nothing. Nothing new anyway, Racetrack had lost yet another bet at the tracks today, which was no different than most days. If he had won, now that would be something to report.

Slumping against the brick wall as my side, the lone horse trotted up to my side and nudged my shoulder. So much for horses being like dogs, I took his harness and started to lead him back. Might as well drop him back off on the way back to Brooklyn there would be no more movement for me to watch tonight. Maybe I would finally get some sleep.

* * *

Remember Readers! Each chapter is written by a different author! So try to leave reviews for the chapters because that way I can send it back to their individual writers! Thanks for reading and if you're interested in joining the team of birds, send me an email we're still looking for writers~! -Laces


	7. Strike The World Will Know

**7. Strike! / The World will Know**

**By Laces **

**Bird On Watch: Dragon**

The air was heavy with a static movement that I can only describe as brimming action. I could smell that something was going to happen, smell it the way only a watcher of the city like myself could. I had been taught by the best to have a six sense about my surroundings, though I've heard it whispered that I was born this way. I could sense and understand the city in ways most people didn't even care to imagine.

I lit a cigarette trying to enjoy getting off my feet for the first time today. I was in my favorite chair, a once richly fancy thing that now looked shabby but was molded to my own favorite slouch. This chair had been my first trophy of the streets, a stolen object from years ago. I had carried this chair with my mentor, Critter O'Connell from under some hoidy-toidy rich family moving in blocks away from the nest. Of course, my birds were currently trying their hardest to ruin my peaceful sanctuary.

My birds were not an easily controlled group of misfits, but I always did like a challenge. Not even Spot Conlon himself could be the leader to my little hatchlings. I had to be tougher than nails while still approachable and understanding. Birds, you see, need to be a well-oiled machine, not like those stupid looms at the factories that get caught every few minutes causing some poor sap to get their finger chopped off. No, something gets caught with my birds and someone could end up dead. Not just in the way that sometimes Brooklyn boys got too rough, no a death like that would be peaceful compared to what could happen to a fallen bird. When you hear that the Brooklyn birds know everything, it ain't no joke. We watch everything, from the back alley dealings of Tammany Boss Crocker to violent fight in Little Italy. One step too loudly and our livelihood would be taken from us. It had happened once, a girl a few years back under Critter's rule had coughed during a watch of something particularly nasty at five points. She didn't survive and Critter just got tougher, which in turn made me tougher.

I pulled out my notepad, thinking about past mistakes made me itch to double check the whereabouts of my current birds. Ignoring the bickering that was getting louder around me, I checked off the notes I had jotted down. I was currently waiting for four birds, chewing on the end of my cigarette I used my hand to feel my pocket watch. I had learned to tell time without opening it because it was quicker. Feeling the beats of the watch, I could no longer ignore the shouting Laces at my feet.

The four birds that surrounded me currently were in a heated debate about my proclamation that a storm was brewing. I had ignored them at first thinking they would tire of questioning my absolute truth. But apparently I had underestimated how much Laces and Linger loathed each other. Part of my gift and the reason that Critter had chosen me as his successor as the whispered leader of the legendary birds was that I could read my spies like open books. I understood that though Pip looked disengaged curled up in an open crate, he was in fact paying a great deal of attention. Pip was flicking two cards in his left hand, an ace and a diamond which meant that the gambler of my group was debating if he should take odds against me or not. I would deal with that thought later. I smiled at Shadow lying almost completely motionless across the ground in between Laces and Linger. Shadow was covered in mud, a situation that I had scolded him for just earlier. Currently though, Shadow was lying stretched across that way in-between his fellow birds in case one of them lunged at each other. The boy was quick to defend and kept the peace, especially in situations involving the girls.

Linger and Laces just liked to argue and annoy me. Though when really digging for more explanation I could discuss how Linger was jealous of Laces. He was against the girls being birds, especially my troublemaker, because with a smile and a wink the rouge gal could get whatever she wanted. Linger didn't appreciate her maneuvering abilities or how manipulative she could really be. Laces, on the other hand, craved attention and sought it by annoying me every chance she got. The girl lacked discipline and rules gave her some sense of belonging that other things couldn't, it was strange but it worked to my advantage most of the time. I grew tired of the childish denial that I was right.

"I know that something is going to happen, that's why we're here because things happen." I slammed my fist in annoyance against the wobbly table in front of me. Probably not the best idea of the day as the ancient wood of one of the table legs cracked under the pressure of my angry fist. Laces reacted quicker than I had thought she was capable of, grabbing the table before it crashed onto the ground. Shadow pulled off his muddy boots and tied them together in some odd way and created a makeshift table leg. Those were my birds, quick to react to all situations even my temper.

"Well we weren't saying there wasn't." Linger mumbled in a low breath that he thought I might not catch. But I catch everything. You don't become the leader of the birds without amazing skill.

It was late, later than I usually liked to have discussions that gave me headaches. Though to be fair almost all discussions that involved more than one of my birds gave me a headache. Breaking the table had gotten me my desired result, silence. Peaceful bliss for 30 seconds, at least. Laces had stopped bickering with Linger and instead the two just glared at each other. I ignored them for a moment studying the sleeping room around me. I counted how many of the birds were asleep some of which I could clearly see and others which were just lumps in hammocks. Birds are creatures of habit though and I could easily deduce which lumps were who. I made out Mouse's arm hanging out of her hammock and her fingers were twitching making me imagine the kid was counting in her sleep.

As I was taking a mental count in my head, Laces tugged my cigarette out of my hand and took a puff of it liberally. A growl pushed up in my throat before I flicked my finger at her right ear.

"Dragon, no need for the ear." Laces snapped handing me back my cigarette. She gave me a pout, her brown eyes reproaching me for the discipline. My troublemaker didn't take to being reprimanded, but she had to be sometimes.

"Look, I don't think that Laces should be in Manhattan anymore." Linger started anew on an older argument that we had once every month. Laces had a tendency to get over-involved in Manhattan due to her attachment to Kelly.

"I just don't want to be there in the morning, I wasn't saying that I don't want to be there at all!" Laces snapped back loudly.

"What's got your knickers all in a bunch anyway?" Pip asked me from his spot next to Linger. I put my cigarette out on the arm of my favorite chair, the very chair I had pushed Pip out of earlier. Apparently all of my birds were trying their luck with me today.

"Boss." Pip added. The boy probably noticed how I was pressing my lips together in silent aggravation.

"I can feel something is happening. I moved some of the owls around tonight, Pockets is keeping an eye on the World building while Tavern is at the lodging house in Manhattan." I said slowly hearing footsteps from a distance. I frowned, trying to think through who might be coming back right now.

"Yeah and you sent me to Brooklyn's lodging house, just to have Filly replace me a few hours later. What was that about? Just 'cause you want me in Manhattan tomorrow morning! I hate mornings!" Laces whined. I kicked her with my right foot, as she was sitting on the floor near enough to me.

"You'll do what I want when I want it." I said sternly daring her to try my patience again tonight. I noticed Linger snicker at her but I didn't focus on him, instead I focused on the shadow walking into the nest. Squinting I noticed how the shadow picked his left foot up slower than his right foot, Skaggs swagger was different than almost everyone else's.

I clutched my pocket watch again. I felt the slight vibrations of the springs and clogs inside it. He was a little later than I expected him, especially since I had the boy out all day.

"There's a bit of hooting out there." Skaggs commented as he came up to our little group.

"About what?" Linger demanded. I rolled my eyes because that was my question.

"Pockets wanted you to know that Pulitzer is having a late night meeting with Jonathan and that pansy Steiz." Skaggs shrugged.

"It ain't your busy body nose's business to have an opinion on Steiz." I scolded. Personally I don't care what my birds think about people, but it was better if I taught them not to insert their opinion. Why was it better? If they learned to report without their opinion, sooner or later they stopped watching with it too.

"Yeah, well. Pulitzer is having a meeting with his goons." Skaggs yawned. His yawned sparked a round of yawns around the group, including myself. I didn't sleep much these days, truthfully none of the birds slept very much. When there was a lot of rumbling in the city, I took plenty of naps but never slept a whole night. It was hard when I had birds coming in and going out at every hour of every day.

"Jack took this horse." Skaggs was saying before I noticed that I had stopped listening.

"Oh, I bet cowboy looked great riding a horse." Laces swooned. I sighed loudly bringing their attention back to me.

"Start at the beginning, did Mischief have anything to report back before she came back?" I demanded. Skaggs looked guilty, like he hadn't asked. Starring at his face, I was completely sure that the boy hadn't asked but instead jibed at his childhood playmate in the way they often did when they were together. Sometimes I forget that some of my birds distract each other from what I need.

"So you didn't ask." I sighed. I really just wanted them all to go to bed but we were waiting for Runner to come back with word from Conlon.

"No." Skaggs mumbled before he just jumped into his own tale. "But I followed Jack back to the lodging house, it seems that after spending some time with a real family that our cowboy was upset."

I squinted at him. Skaggs was talking too fast which made him guilty of something else.

"And after that he stole the horse and rode it back. He met up with Race who was just getting in. Racetrack lost money on his bet today." Skaggs finished.

"You lost Kelly while you were following him then?" I didn't wait for a response. "I've told you a million times not to get distracted on the job. You don't know the alleyways in Manhattan as well as you know the ones in Brooklyn."

I had a knack for reading between the lines in the guilty eyes of my birds. They all had tendencies when they were lying, when they were omitting parts of their stories. I could read most people like an open newspaper.

"Sorry. Can you give me a talking to about it later? I really want to sleep." Skaggs begged me. I nodded not because I usually let anyone off the hook but because Runner finally stumbled in. He had been laughing only moments before as he had that goofy smile plastered to his face.

"Runner," I prompted him.

"Spot is thinking you're right." Runner smiled as he winked down at Laces. I couldn't stop from thinking how out of her league he was, even if he was a Conlon.

"That's a miracle, Conlon admitting someone else could be right." Linger laughed softly. Laces giggled at the remark, they were getting giddy on me.

"And he thinks," I waved my hand in front of me. The motion of my wrist was the closest I could get to the actual action I wanted to take, mostly decking the younger Conlon in front of me.

"Doubles might be in order." Runner grinned at his fellow birds. The rest of them groaned loudly.

"We're trying to sleep here." Hair snapped from somewhere behind me.

"Yes, I suspected as much. Go on to bed with you then Laces, Horace Greenly Square in Manhattan for you tomorrow morning. Runner, I want you to contact Fifth Avenue tomorrow." I commanded. Laces opened her mouth to argue, but I didn't give her enough time to do so. Shadow had shifted out from his spot, silently moving closer to the door. Well-trained that kid is. As he listened to the whistling happening in the darkness of the city.

"I've got Dime watching that meeting between Mayor Van Wyck and Tammany boss William Crocker. There seems to be something going on with the Ice Company, so I ain't moving him for tomorrow but if something happens we'll move him." I commented reading the signals from Shadow who was listening to the reports coming in.

"Dime ain't with Nickel?" Pip asked.

"I got Nickel at the Refugee, just in case Synder goes looking for Kelly again." I commented off-hand. Nickel and Dime were twins and I often placed them close to each other because Nickel was a bit of a slacker if his brother didn't keep him on his toes.

"So tomorrow you all better be prepared to be out late and run where I need you to be." I looked pointedly at Laces who seemed intrigued by her untied shoes all of a sudden.

"Well that's my cue to find a nesting place." Pip jumped up and away.

"I can feel something is going to happen tomorrow, so to bed with all of you." I waved them off. In silence that is normal for them they all moved out of my sight, like ghosts.

"It will be awfully rough on us to do doubles." Mouse mumbled from her hammock half awake. It's amazing how many ears are listening to any one conversation happening at any one time in the nest. I knew that most of the birds had heard they would be working the streets twice as long than they wanted to tomorrow.

"Nonsense. Nonsense. My birds can handle anything." I sighed kicked my legs up onto the broken table and rested my head on the back of the chair. Pulling my cap over my eyes, I figured I had about half an hour before Dime came in with more news. I listened to the distance whistling and the movements of Shadow making himself comfortable against the door. At least one of my birds was trying to impress me tonight. Or at least I would like to think that's what was happening.

*whistles*

**Bird on Watch: Laces **

I was desperately trying not to sneeze. My hand was pressed against my nose and I was holding my breath. I don't know how many people, even birds, had curled up under a carriage like I currently was for as long as I had been. I ain't stupid. I felt the storm brewing just as much as Dragon and knew how to be ready. Though this morning that had meant being in Manhattan early enough to climb under the paper wagon that rode into the selling docks. I wanted to be close today, I felt like whatever was going to happen was going to happen with Jack's boys. And no matter what everyone else said, it wasn't just cause I favored that adorable cowboy. There was something about David and that kid brother of his that squeaked like an old wagon wheel. I don't think they're bad, but with change often comes the kinds of storms we birds watch for.

My legs were curled into my chest and I was hidden nicely in a cast shadow. Not that any of the newsies would even think to look down from their lofty spots on the selling dock. And even if they dropped their papes on the way out, they would never looked pass the point of their nose, at least not this early and without a clear and present skirt. That was the only bad part of being a bird. They just never noticed me.

The point is my current perch was a perfect spot to be in the mist of the action. I couldn't see too well, but I could hear everything. I could definitely see everyone's shoes, which sometimes was just enough.

A group of them had walked in, a parade of dirty black and brown shoes waltzed by my direct line of sight on the higher selling dock. I picked out the clean shoes and made a mental note that David and his younger brother obviously had a mother that cleaned their shoes. As they got in line to buy their morning papes I listened to Skittery whine about the weak headline. Yet another front page about the trolley strike, wasn't everyone this side of Brooklyn not yet tired of this strike? I thought it was a valid argument from Skittery, even though he was usually cranky and Boots was encouraging him to just make up better headlines anyway.

The wagon I was under knocked against my head suddenly, painfully. A weight had been added to it as I realized that one of the boys must have decided to jump onto it. I muttered a string of curses as I glared at the bottom of the wagon, where the green paint was peeling. To take out the anger I couldn't direct at the stupid newsboy that had caused my pain, I peeled off a strip of paint. Take that wagon!

I heard Weasel stomp up to the window. It's hard not to recognize the heavy footsteps of the goon who worked for Pulitzer it reminded me of the sound of rain pelting against the top of a wooden crate. I have hidden under crates during summer storms because I hate getting wet. Obviously I like to hide under things. So I recognized the sound, as the first boy tried to buy papes outrage broke out. I couldn't understand what calamity had happened but I did use the noise to finally sneeze. Wiping my nose on my sleeve I looked out towards the square and noticed the dark gray pant legs and the once black shoes that were now just a shadowy gray with dry dirt caked onto them. I smiled. I had been beginning to worry that something might have happened to Jack. But he wasn't a morning person either, and sometimes I gave him an allowance of up to fifteen minutes past his newsies to get anywhere in the morning.

Jacky could use a shoeshine, maybe I could pretend to be a black boot later and fix those right up. Dragon might not care for the idea, but I thought it was bloody brilliant. His grayish shoes actually reminded me slightly of good old Horace's shoes made of that greenish metal, which really just meant I spent entirely too much time around the square in Manhattan.

Then my ears perked cause Kid Blink shouted at Jack angrily. I tried to decipher why he was so angry with Cowboy before really listening to the words.

"They jacked up the price! Did you hear that Jack!"

Well you said it loud enough for everyone to hear Blink. I sighed annoyed that anyone was yelling this early and even more so that anyone was yelling at Jack.

"10 cents a hundred. You know it's bad enough that we got to eat what we don't sell. Now they jacked up the price! Can you believe that?" Blink kept ranting.

They jacked up the price, the price of the newsies papers. Bells started ringing in my head, this was important information. I needed to pass along this information. I needed to do it now. But I couldn't possibly whistle without giving myself away, not yet. I would have to wait, I strained to focus and listen to what was going on around me.

"This will bust me. I'm barely making a living right now."

"I'll be back sleeping on the streets."

"It don't make no sense, I mean all the money Pulitzer is making. Why would he gauge us?"

"Cause it's a tight wad! That's why!"

I listened to all the complaints, storing them. Boots use to sleep on the streets. We knew that about him already. It was safe to assume that all these boys had once slept on the streets. Skittery was broke. Again not information that wasn't readily available to everyone. Mush, poor curly haired kid believed that Pulitzer thought about the newsies ever. Everyone knows that no amount of money is ever enough, poor or rich it was a universal fact. At least I had thought so. The bitter outrage got mumbled here and I lost focus cause the grayish black boots that I knew belonged to my favorite Manhattan boy moved up the steps to where I knew Weasel was. The wagon bounced, signaling that whoever had been standing on it had moved off.

"So why the jack up Weasel?" Jack asked slamming his fist onto the window ledge. I recognize the sound of hands pounding into wood. It was a familiar noise to me because Dragon does it when he's annoyed. Pounding fists must be a boy habit.

"Why not? It's a nice day! Why don't you ask Mr. Pulitzer!" Weasel shouted after Jack. Yeah, of course the leader of the Manhattan newsies was going to go up and talk to one of the newspaper giants of New York, that was likely. Stupid Weasel. I peered through the red wheel I was near trying to see what exactly was going on. It is hard to be a blind bird, listening requires a lot more focus when you can't see what's happening around you.

There was a lot of speaking around me for a few moments, as I watched Jack shuffled back down to the last step and sit down. I could see much more of him now, up to his rope belt.

"Jack, we got no choice. So let's get our lousy papes while they still got some." Mush was saying. Jack wasn't having it though. He was refusing to believe that they could get away with this. Personally I was with Racetrack, Pulitzer has all the marbles Jack. I didn't understand how Jack wasn't just being sensible and buying his papers, like Mush suggested before they didn't have anymore. I wondered how Mush could be so naïve one moment and yet so sensible the next. I figure that's just the life of a street kid. But, I was going to be upset if Jack had to sleep out on the streets tonight because he was being stubborn.

Les' high pitch voice was demanding that everyone give Jack some room. I might like this new little brother. He was on Jack's side and anyone with that much sense was definitely worth liking. Les was demanding that all the boys let Jack think. It went completely silent for a moment and again I found myself frantic for action so that I could get out and whistle my information. The paper price went up, that was news that needed to get to Dragon right now. From me, before anyone else, I needed to keep my high place among birds. I find out news first, I make sure news gets spread to the nest quickly. I don't think that Dragon will accept that I was stuck under a wagon as an excuse.

I was beginning to wonder if Jack was done thinking yet, when someone voiced my question. Before Jack answered Weasel tried to get the boys to leave the selling docks and that obviously was never going to work. Newsies don't listen well. Angry newsies listen worse. Yelling erupted again and then Jack's voice rang passionate around me.

"If we don't sell papes than no body sells papes."

Jack was suggesting a strike? A voice I didn't recognize, meaning it had to be David asked what I was thinking. More voices in disbelief now floated around me, I clearly heard Race ask Jack if he was out of his mind. Now I had to get out from under here, Dragon _must _know now that there was talk of a strike. I was cursing myself for deciding to hide under this wagon where I was stuck now. I silently begged for the boys to move out of the selling docks, right now. My foot started to twitch even my foot understood that I needed to move.

David and Jack were talking now, why so many words. Go into the square, I begged them silently. I was tugged impatiently at my hair and started nibbling on my nails, if I didn't move soon I was going to chew off my finger. I could barely focus on the talk of strikes, unions, being angry kids with no money. I was angry. I was a kid. And I definitely had no money maybe I could become a striking newsie when Dragon threw me out of the nest for not getting him this news immediately as it was happening. Obviously I was going to die under this wagon, I could feel it. The boys were never going to move.

Shoes started rustling around me, people were moving! I was not going to die under this wagon. I strained to listen to the words over the movement. Organizing all the newsies in New York. A collection. Was there even a whole thought going through Kelly's thick skull? David was right this wasn't a joke. Great, I was agreeing with the new kid. I stopped being able to hear anything as the boys shuffled out of the selling docks and I scrambled out from underneath the wagon as quickly and discreetly as I could. Making myself invisible as I pushed up against the wall and flicked my hand up to insert two fingers into ends of my mouth. I whistled as loud as I could, praying that at least Pockets was still sitting up on top of the James and Co. building across the square. I knew that at least one bird had to be close enough to hear me. I could feel them. I whistled once more before slipping out of the selling docks, strolling along casually towards a bench to watch what was going to happen next. This was what the city had been whispering about last night, New York always knows when something is going to happen. When I sat down unnoticed by the angry, striking newsies I let out a low set of whistles again because I had to make sure that someone was going to inform our leader that events were unfolding before my very eyes. The leader of the birds and the mighty Spot Conlon would want to know that there was another strike going on.

*whistles*

**Bird on Watch: Pockets **

My heart was beating hard enough to jump out of my chest. I had been completely asleep seconds ago, curled up against the brick of the James and Co. building. I could sleep through almost anything, the sun beating down on me, or the city waking up underneath me. But the whistles, I was startled awake by the damn whistling. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and tried to focus on the world around me, much brighter since I had last had my eyes open.

The whistles came again and I heard the sequence clearly. A newsies strike, papers price had gone up ten cents a hundred. Jack Kelly was leading a strike? I jumped to my feet to look down on the square. Without a second thought to the information, I popped my fingers into my mouth and spread the news. I didn't know who else was close by, but I could see Laces sitting on one of the green benches of the square below me. She was covered in dirt and suddenly my last memory before my nap came back. I had watched the little bundle of trouble in her torn up green skirts and cream-colored shirt come in with the distribution wagon this morning. I added to my whistles that Laces had more detail on the exact conversations because she had been on the selling docks when all this had happened. I saw her mouth curl into a smile, the girl loved to get her well deserved reputation.

Then I pried my eyes away from the glowing brown hair and sparkling smile of the lovely Laces Kai and focused on her favorite attraction of Manhattan news. I heard the little kid with the sword as I squinted to notice it was Les, yell strike. Yes, that was a good idea maybe you can beat the newspaper giants with that toy sword kid. Kelly was walking around Horace Greenly with one hand on the bald man's head as he spoke to his boys. I noticed that David would say something and Jack would shout it to the crowd. Brains and Guts was what I was going to call Kelly and David Jacobs from now on. Jack was declaring the newsboys a union. I frowned as far as I understood unions, which I suppose wasn't much, you couldn't just declare yourselves a union. I didn't think so anyway, I cuffed my fist over my mouth and started whistling through my hand using my right palm to create a twittering effect. I kept both hands in place as I listened. I knew information was going to come at me fast.

Striking, the newsboys were striking against the World and Jack was suggesting that they could be a union. Boots, being the intelligent soul he was asked how they were going to keep others from selling papers. Jack provided a very street kid answer, soaking them of course. Someone threw Jack a walking stick, maybe Skittery? I couldn't see. Jack really had them riled up now, hooting and hollering going on as he broke the stick in half. If Jack was pretending that stick was Joe Pulitzer, he was a little more delusional than I ever thought him to be.

Jack's leadership skills didn't fail him now, as he climbed even higher on the bronze Horace Greenly and waved the stick around at the World building. His newsies taking their cues, turned to shout at the building as well. A united voice of angry street kids threatening the most powerful men of New York, because I could hear them shout at the World and the Journal. Dragon and Spot were going to love this. Jack sure could get a crowd going. I noticed how David didn't seem as excited as the rest of the boys, his shoulders were tense and he was looking around nervously for a second.

Someone shook him to get him riled up, but the boys of the streets didn't understand what they were getting themselves into as much as their educated friend. I doubted that the newsboys, even Jack, understood that fighting against wealthy and powerful men was not an easy task. Jack jumped down from his perch on the statue rejoining his ranks as papers went up into the air, in halves and parts.

The boys overtook the square, in their anticipation they started jumping around each other. I whistled along the information that they had declared themselves a union, that David seemed to be reluctant, that Jack and them were tearing up their papers without selling them. I watched as they hoarded towards the selling docks and the distribution wagon that Laces had been hiding under came hurrying out. It seemed that all the yelling had clued in the World employees and they slammed the gate on the boys before any one of them could get in.

The group of them stood in front of the headlines board, shouting about the strike. There was no turning back now, these boys were mad. Jack kept fueling the fire, claiming that Pulitzer could own the world but not them. I had news for you Jack, Pulitzer can own who ever he wants. I shook my head as I watched everyone join into the fray but David who just gave Jack a disbelieving stare.

Jack's energy lead him to climb the stairs of the headlines board, as his boys let out brimming energy by jumping around and dancing along. It was hard not to join in their call to duty. They were being served an injustice. How could such a rich man like Pulitzer do this to the poor working boys of New York? They even had me angry about the situation. I noticed that David finally was sparked with the same fury as the others as he joined them and me in watching as Jack Kelly spelled out the word Strike on the headlines board. I was amazed at Kelly's penmanship, as far as I knew Jack hadn't written anything out in the last three years. Hats were thrown up into the air in celebration as Jack faced his newsboys and the cheering was overpowering. People along the square had stopped to listen and watch. Everyone on this side of the bridge had to know that there was a strike happening now. As I scanned the area once more, noticing Laces had long since moved from her bench, I spotted something strange. Several of the morning strollers were on the edge of the square quietly watching the young men shout about their cause, but all of them were keeping their distance. All of them but one, a man in a brown suit and a matching bowler hat, he was walking towards the rioting group of young men. The man walked confidently, shoulders back and head up and he was definitely not afraid of the newsboys. His pace even suggested that he was interested in these boys, but why would he be interested?

I whistled that whoever was on the ground should watch this new man, bowler hat to see what exactly he wanted. I waited for a response that someone was watching before I took off towards Brooklyn, there was plenty to tell Dragon for myself. I walked quickly not wanting to run as the shouting died down behind me I knew it was going to be a long day.


	8. Ambassadors

Ambassadors

By: Dewey

**Bird On Watch: Runner**

As I left Eleanor's Boutique on 9th, I pulled the gold pocket watch from my pant pocket, a smirk on my face. One of these days yet, I'd work up the courage to call on the girl. Her name was Charlotte. Charlotte De-Something…one of those ritzy last names that almost sounded French. She was beautiful. Not wiry thin like your usual broad. She was short, probably five-foot-two, and still had baby fat on her cheeks and overall figure, but I thought it was endearing.

Don't even get me started on the chocolate curls. She usually wore her hair pulled back into some proper 'do, but I caught her one day outside the boutique with her hair down under a lace dolly. I thought my heart would off itself. For the past few weeks, I'd come into her place of employment, this upper echelon little corner store where they sold jewelry boxes and other such trinkets for women. I'd put on airs of being in the market for a birthday gift for my mother. Charlotte had been helpful, kind, and sweet.

Any day now. Any day now, I'd be suave and composed and ask her to dinner.

Just not today.

My eyes focused in on the time the pocket watch displayed then, and Charlotte had to take a backseat in my thoughts for now. I was late.

I had been one of Brooklyn's Birds for roughly five months now. I was one of the new kids. I was fairly new to the street-rat life in general, and my cousin was as opposed as possible to the idea of me peddling papers. Don't ask me why. I mean, I'm a real good story teller, you know? I could've easily pushed out a hundred papers a day with all the tall tales this mind comes up with. But no, he wouldn't have anything of it, so instead I somehow got stuck under Dragon Giammo's leadership.

A part of me feels like it was punishment on my cousin's behalf, a way to rein in my natural penchant for mischief. Birds couldn't afford to be mischievous. I wouldn't be surprised if he wanted to scare me away from Brooklyn, too. Scare me all the way back to Morningside Heights, where I could easily resume a middle-class life if I so chose.

Well, I'd prove to my cousin one way or another that I could do this riff-raff thing just as much as the next kid. Don't get me wrong, it had been hard at first. I'm not cut from the same mold as other Brooklyn newsies. I can't pull off the stoicism as good as they can. I like to laugh, I like to enjoy life, and you better be sure I _love_ a good prank or two. I would just have to divide my life into fractions from now on. There would be a fraction for Charlotte, a fraction for my family, a fraction for mayhem, and a fraction for the Nest, and that fraction of myself had to be as good as any other Bird that ever walked the streets of New York.

I was still within yards of The New York World's distribution center when I heard the chaos.

"Strike! Strike! Strike!"

At first, I thought Jack Kelly was in another sparring match with the Delancey Brothers. It never failed, his infatuation with making them look like complete idiots. "Glum and dumb," as Racetrack Higgins would say. I was familiar with their antics for the most part, because their lodging house had been my post for all of three weeks--before Dragon decided I was more concerned with making friends than in catching tidbits of information. Which was probably true. But being friends with the Manhattan newsies helped on occasion. Who would suspect a good ol' pal of espionage?

As I drew closer to the scene, I saw that Manhattan's newsies were crowded around the World's headline board right beside the statue of Horace Greeley--whose lap and feet many a newsie found himself sleeping upon when he couldn't affording lodging fees. Over the snippets that had been written in neat penmanship upon the board ("Bloody Beatings in Trolley Strike!!" and "Venezuela Raids") were five rigid and sloppy letters that spelled out a surprising word: S T R I K E!

Jack was the author. He was descending the billboard's side ladder, and not a second after his feet hit the concrete, his newsies were congratulating him with cheers and pats on the back. Onlookers stood in surprise, exchanging disapproving looks and whispers. Older gentleman simply observed, somewhat amused, as if they were remembering the rebellion of their own youth. Horse carriages waited for the boys to clear the street. Most of the city's dwellers simply went about their business, wheeling barrels to their stores or strolling under their parasols with a friend.

There was one man in particular who caught my attention. He was in a three-piece suit I could only imagine had cost a hundred times what I make in one year. The suit was brown with thin stripes in alternating shades of the color. The vest matched the suit jacket, and the bow tie was red. The ensemble was topped with a brown bowler hat, black strip across its lower half. He was tall, and wore a curious expression. Unlike the others observing, he seemed intrigued, and left the railings encircling Horace Greeley to join the crowd of newsies.

I pulled the bill of my derby hat further down my forehead and kept my distance, remaining under the marquis of the Custom Dresses store across the street. Jack talked so loud that I'd still hear every word from his mouth anyway.

"We gotta get word out to all the newsies in New York!" Jack exclaimed excitedly as he pushed someone standing beside him on the steps of the World building. This must've been the one and only David Jacobs. I'd heard about him from the other Birds. Jack's new selling partner, the one Cowboy had swindled. He definitely did have that 'polished, sheltered kid' look. Mouse hadn't been exaggerating.

"I need some of those, ah--watch'ya call em?" Jack jerked his arms out as if he was casting a spell.

"Ambassadors?" David offered. How he got ambassadors from that movement, I don't know, but it was the word Jack was looking for.

Jack ascended the last few steps to the top and stood between two columns as he addressed his newsies. "You guys, you've gotta be am-bastards" there was laughter at this, and I couldn't help but smirk and roll my eyes "to go tell the others that we're on strike."

The boys started to volunteer for boroughs and neighborhoods. Kid Blink took Harlem. Racetrack wanted Midtown. Mush made his way for the Bowery. Crutchy signed up for the Bronx. Bumlets, Specs, and Skittery were given Queens, and Pie Eater, Snoddy, and Snipeshooter took East Side. These 'ambassadors' parted from the crowd to pursue their new mission.

That's when I heard the series of whistles. I looked around, but I couldn't see anyone. Naturally. Birds were trained to make themselves camouflage with their surroundings, or to just make themselves disappear altogether. I tried to place the tune of the whistle, as if that would tell me who had given the signal. Who was supposed to be on watch here? Damn, I really should have paid more attention to Dragon's orders the night prior. Maybe it was Laces. That's right. She had been given Horace Greeley Square! I gave the place another once over, trying to locate her, but the crowds were too thick. Pursing my lips, I let out a shrill whistle, letting her know I had it covered.

Wait. What was I covering?

"So what about Brooklyn? Who wants Brooklyn? C'mon, Spot Conlon's territory"

And that's all it took for Manhattan's newsies to fall dead silent. Again, I couldn't help the smirk from snaking across my lips. People always said I was better suited for Manhattan, but I was still a Brooky through and through and I was proud of the borough from which I hailed. Seeing the effect its mere name had on people made that pride swell inside of me. Had my cousin been there to witness it, it would've fed his ego.

Jack's boys did everything to avoid his eyes. Suddenly, their clothes were itchy or something more interesting across the street had their attention. Jack didn't understand their hesitation. "What'sa matter, you scared a' Brooklyn?"

"Hey, we aint scared a' Brooklyn," a boy I knew as Boots cried out. "Spot Conlon makes us a little nervous."

Again, I had to smirk. My cousin, a downright god on the streets of New York. I always found it amusing how his 'subjects' cringed and cowered before him.

"Yeah, well he don't make me nervous," Jack said, "so you and me Boots, we'll go to Brooklyn. And Dave can keep us company."

Was Jack Kelly kidding? He was going to take this clean-cut, sharp-looking kid to Brooklyn? David would be like fresh meat on our docks. I wondered if this is how I'd looked when I first came to Brooklyn a couple of years ago. It made me laugh. There was another whistle to my right, and I saw the man from earlier--the one in the brown suit and bowler hat--drawing closer to the boys, toward David who now stood alone as Jack Kelly entered the World office with a boy half his size. Yeah, Jack had definitely lost it. No one went into the offices of tycoons without an appointment. Did the guy have a death wish or something? Maybe he wanted another foray into the Refuge.

In any case, I had my marching orders. I knew now what that whistle had been about. Someone had to tell Spot Conlon, my beloved cousin, that Manhattan would soon be seeking Brooklyn's help. I already knew what Spot's answer would be. He was selective in who he allied himself with. He only helped those who helped themselves, and even then, that wasn't a guarantee that he'd be your friend.

I turned and started on my way to Brooklyn, but not before hearing the doors to the World office slam open and spit out an angry Jack.

"So is your old lady! You tell Pulitzer he needs an appointment with _me_!"

The whistling followed me all the way to Brooklyn. Low and long, fluttering and high pitch, every kind of signal you could think of was going off around the city in every direction. Too bad I never really learned how to understand the language of sound that we used between rooftops or through cracks in the wall. It was partially cause I couldn't hear them too well, but also cause I got too distracted to bother paying attention. Missing on tweet here or a short whistle before the long changed the entire meaning of what another bird was trying to tell me, so I had stopped bothering.

The Brooklyn Lodging House's main room downstairs smelled like smoke, and that's how I knew that Spot was in. He'd been a horrible smoker since he was thirteen years old. In my opinion, he did it to appear older than his years. I also think he did it because he knew I hated it. Yet another way to get me to run back to Morningside Heights. He really didn't like that I was becoming what he was--a penniless riffraff with no future. He'd tell me time and time again that any of his boys would give their right arm to have what I'd had. I believed him, of course, but that didn't mean I didn't want adventure.

As I furthered into the room, I saw that Spot was seated at a round table, playing poker with Dragon. The room was dark, and they spoke in hushed tones. The card game was more a preoccupation for their hands. I doubt they were paying any mind to whether they had three of a kind or flushes. I couldn't quite catch what they were saying. Unlike my fellow Birds, I wasn't the best at eavesdropping. During my first few weeks in Brooklyn, I'd fallen off the docks during a scuffle. I didn't know how to swim--and still don't--so every three seconds, my head would submerge. It was Spot who'd pulled me out. But the damage had been done. Too much water had gotten into my right hear, and I was slightly hard of hearing. No one knows, though, and no one finds it strange that I ask them to repeat things at least three times.

"Knock knock, dolls," I said with a lazy grin.

Spot looked up from his hand of cards and rested his eyes on me. I'll admit, there were times his stare could even stop _my _heart. I don't know how he'd perfected such a menacing look. I'd like to think it had something to do with the fact that we'd had uncles involved with gangs until their passing. Maybe it was in our blood, to encompass all that was evil and intimidating. He didn't say anything, for two reasons. One, he was wordlessly letting me know that if I ever called him a doll again--whether we were alone or not--he would murder me in my sleep. I wouldn't put it past him, either. Two, he was waiting for me to explain why I had interrupted his conversation with Dragon. You didn't interrupt conversations in which Spot was engaged. It was like walking up to him and throwing an upper cut into his face.

I let my grin drop. Usually, I didn't let Spot get to me, but I was pretty sure he was going to be in a bad mood in T minus ten seconds, so it was in my best interest to straighten out for once. "I come bearing news from 'Hattan." I slowly walked into the room and stood behind an empty chair opposite them. I waited for them to invite me to sit, but that invitation never came.

"Yea, its seems the world is all a twitter with news from that part of town." Dragon sighed his dark eyes glancing towards the slightly cracked window behind him. I wondered what he had already heard, how much Laces could have really already informed Dragon of maybe, the paper price going up? The strike? Clearly the whistle was meant for me to bring information to Spot.

Spot was focused on shuffling his hand of cards back into the deck, a cigarette hanging idly from his lips. As far as he was concerned, Bird business was entirely Dragon's and he wanted nothing to do with it. He had enough things to worry about as Brooklyn's leader. I looked to Dragon. His hat was at rest on the table, leaving his black locks tossled. His eyes were dark in the dim lighting of the room. It looked like he didn't have a soul.

"Well?" Dragon said finally.

I shrugged. There was no easy way to say this. It was one of those things you just had to spit out and be straight forward about. "Manhattan's going on strike against Pulitzer because of the paper prices. They've sent ambassadors all over New York. Queens, Harlem, the Bowery. They want all the newsies in alla New York to go on strike with them."

Spot laughed. It wasn't a joyful laugh. It was sarcastic and condescending and short-lived. He pulled the cigarette from his mouth and tapped the ash off the end.

"They seem serious about this," I added, because I didn't think my cousin was convinced a strike would be happening. Or maybe he'd already made up his mind, and knew a strike _couldn't _happen, not without Brooklyn's help.

Dragon's head snapped and it was like watching a lizard a fluid movement and his dark eyes were glowing towards the cracked window. I was much slower at turning my head but even when I did there was nothing there, I frowned. Of course, just as I was going to turn away the grimly once white hands curled up at the window frame and pushed up.

"Permission to speak?" Pockets smiled his dimpled grin at Dragon but his eyes sparkled with the excitement of news. Birds, we loved to know things before everyone else it's what made us so adequately fit to be spies. Dragon gave a curt nod and Pockets leaned his head against the window frame. He nodded at Spot as an acknowledgement to the fearless legend we worked for but didn't speak to him. No, Pockets was a well-trained bird he spoke directly to Dragon.

"We thought it important to let you know that Kelly, David and that kid with the sword are at Tibby's with a reporter from the Sun. We were having trouble recognizing him at first but Laces picked one of his pockets and found out he's name is Denton. He use to be the ace war correspondent for the Sun, so he's just recently back and now covering the strike."

Maybe that had been what all the tweeting had been about. Dragon nodded and tilted back in his chair so that he was hovering right near the window. Bending his head slightly, Pockets began to whispering more details as I stood slightly uncomfortable as I felt Spot studying me. I tried not to notice the disappointment that seemed to be radiating from him. Here I was this bird without all the information. I wasn't the best, I wasn't like him but then again I never really tired to be. Than again I could be reading Spot all wrong, it was a possibility. Pockets finished and had all but dissolved into thin air, returning the window to its original cracked stage. Dragon resumed his spot near the table, acting as if nothing had happened.

"I told you, it seemed serious." I mumbled trying to get my footing again. Dragon's lip curled and I noticed him rolling an unlit cigarette in his hand. I knew he was beyond aggravated with me. Maybe I would stay out of his way when I made my way back to the nest tonight.

Dragon pressed for details, and I provided them, but throughout it all my eyes were on Spot. What was going on in that head of his? He was unreadable, as always. Spot never wore his emotions on his sleeve. Most people thought that he was completely apathetic, but that wasn't true. He was just guarded. He'd had a rough lot in life, and that's how he protected himself from everything else that came his way.

"How the hell does Jacky propose we make money if we're on strike?" Finally, he spoke. He arched one eyebrow, and it disappeared in the shadows of his hat's bill. His eyes burned into me, as if somehow this was all my fault, as if I had been the one who'd convinced Jack of a strike. I mean, sure, it could've been possible but in this case it wasn't. I hadn't even been at Manhattan until the madness had already descended. I'd had errands to run on Fifth Avenue for Dragon in the morning, and then there was Charlotte after that.

"I don't know…"

Dragon gave me a look that clearly said my answer wasn't good enough.

So I improvised. "I mean, I guess he's figuring the strike won't have to take all that long, you know? If we all work together, maybe the prices will go back to normal in a few days tops."

Spot's look now showed that he thought I was a complete idiot. He looked to Dragon for verification on this idea, and Dragon seemed to agree with him. I didn't appreciate that.

"He's coming here, by the way," I said. "With Boots and David."

Dragon groaned. He would have to rearrange our schedule again, this strike meant more running around for all of us.

"That the kid you were telling me about?" Spot asked the Italian, and when he nodded in reply, Spot pushed his chair back and stood. His suspenders were loose at his sides and he reached for the blue button-down shirt draped across the back of his chair. "Looks like we'se expectin' company, then, boys. Let Kelly come here with his little entourage and explain this stupidity himself. I've had about enough of the rumors as I can take for now."

"They aint rumors, Spot! Maybe you should take this a little bit more seriously!"

That was the wrong thing to say. I knew there were times when Dragon wished he could smack me good. The only reason he stopped himself was because I was Spot's 'baby' cousin and he respected Spot. In fact, if anyone did as much as lay a hand on me, they had Spot to deal with. But don't misinterpret that, because it's not Spot being protective. It's him being possessive. He's the only one allowed to beat the crap out of me, and he never misses an opportunity to do so.

Point in case: now. I shouldn't have piped up like that, suggesting he do something differently like that.

He stormed up to me until our faces were mere inches apart. He liked getting in close for the kill. He did this to everyone. Even people who were taller than him cowered away at this tactic. His voice was threatening. "You got something to say, Runner?"

I glared back at him, angry that he was being so stubborn and angry that he wouldn't just hear me out, but I shook my head. "I said all I needed to say."

"Good." Spot crushed his cigarette against a wall and then produced a fresh one from his pant pocket. Sticking it between his lips he nodded at Dragon to follow him out. It was time to meet Manhattan.

The whistling didn't stop. It was a constant background noise to every step we took from the lodging house to the dock. Dragon even vanished at one point, going to deal with finding out more details about Harlem's response or maybe it was something about how Denton wore bowties? I wasn't sure, like I said I didn't understand some of our whistling.

The Brooklyn docks were always busy. Our lodging house was close to the piers where fisherman unloaded their fresh catches, but we never let the smell bother us. This was our kingdom. On a typical day, between the morning and afternoon editions, we'd lounge on the docks or swim in the river or recline on crates doing any number of things: playing cards, shooting marbles, gambling, laughing, or practicing our slingshot skills. Spot was always withdrawn from the activities. He was like a king on his throne, keeping watch. Today, though, he stood tall and proud, leaning against a wooden platform with nets draped over it.

Usually, I was among the others, but I'd stayed nearby to my cousin today because I just had to hear for myself what he'd intended on doing with Manhattan. It was less than an hour from the time I'd left to the time I finally saw the familiar red bandana that belonged to Jack. I don't know what took him so long, but when I finally caught a glimpse of the guy, I wished he'd taken longer. He didn't know what he was walking into, did he? David and Boots followed in tow, and it wasn't long before Brooklyn newsies were swarming around them like a pack of wolves.

I saw Jazz confront them on the docks, blocking their way before Jack sidestepped him wordlessly. About three or four other Brooky's trailed behind them now, like they'd picked up the scent of fresh meat. I knew they shouldn't have brought that David kid.

Spot's eyes were trained on his Manhattan counterpart. "Well if it aint Jack be nimble, Jack be quick." Spot could never just call the leader by his actual name.

"So you've moved up in the world, Spot," Jack said, climbing down from platforms and making his way through the jungle of the Brooklyn docks to draw closer. "Got a river view and everything."

Spot jumped down to meet him halfway, his famous gold-tipped cane in hand. He claimed to use it to slug a bum almost daily, but I knew he kept it close because he hated stray dogs. He'd been attacked by one once when we were kids. They looked at each other for a moment, and then Jack broke the silence with a spit shake. Spot obliged him. It was tradition after all.

Spot acknowledged Boots, then, who presented him with what I could only describe as an offering of sorts. Like an offering to some Greek god. Bring a gift, and maybe the god will help you in your quest. Good move, I had to admit. And I was a little jealous that Spot had new shooters for his slingshot. He loaded one into the slingshot's launching pad and pulled the drawstring back as he moved right into business. He didn't like to beat around the bush.

"So uh, Jacky-boy. I've been hearing things from little birds. Things from Harlem, Queens…" He released the drawstring and the shooter was propelled forth until it crashed into a brown beer bottle a few yards away. "All over," Spot finished casually. "They're chirpin' in my ear. Jacky-boy's newsies is playin' like they going on strike."

Actually we had said that Jack was going on strike, but Spot liked to make it clear he was in charge. Laces, Pockets, anyone within the five-mile radius of the selling docks didn't think Manhattan was playing at anything, but what kind of judges were we? Street trash and vagabonds compared to Spot Conlon untouchable leader of the Brooklyn kingdom? Laces wasn't going to love the mighty Spot Conlon accusing her boy Jack of playing at anything.

"Yeah, well we are," Jack said, with a touch of finality in his words.

"We're not playing. We are going on strike." It was David who spoke.

I was too stunned to break my eyes away from Spot, but I knew the other Brooky's around me were probably holding their breath. Had someone just had the audacity to stand up to Spot? Hadn't Jack or Boots warned this kid against that? A part of me wondered if Spot would bash the kid's skull in with his cane.

Instead, Spot did what he'd done to me earlier, getting close in to David's face to mock him. "Oh yeah? Yeah?" I heard some fellow newsies snicker. Spot made it sound like he was talking to a little baby. "What is this Jacky-boy, some kind of walkin' mouth?"

"Yeah it's a mouth, but a mouth with a brain. And if you got half of one, you'll listen to what he's got to say."

Spot was not impressed. That much was obvious. He didn't like the idea of some middle-class, well-dressed kid coming into his borough and flaunting his book smarts. It was insulting, but it was also laughable. What did this kid know about the struggles newsies went through every day? What did he know about not being able to afford lodging for the night, or going a day without food, or having to eat what you didn't sell?

Still, Spot wanted to know what other rubbish would come out the kid's mouth. So he took a seat on a crate, a sarcastic look on his face while he gave David his undivided attention.

"Well we started the strike," David began, "but we can't do it alone so we've been talking to newsies all around the city."

"Yeah," Spot said, interjecting. "So they told me. But what did they tell you?" Spot didn't like to be caught off guard by people who were not of his borough. That's one reason why the Birds had been developed, I think. So that he'd always know what was going on in the city, so that nothing would surprise him.

"They're waiting to see what Spot Conlon says because you're the key."

Spot couldn't help but smirk at that. He even sat a little straighter.

"That Spot Conlon is the most respected and famous newsie in all of New York. And probably everywhere else!" Boots nodded at his, encouraging David to continue. "And if Spot Conlon joins the strike, then they'll join! And we'll be unstoppable! So you gotta join us, because--well, you gotta!"

Spot, a smirk still plastered on his face, turned his head toward Jack with a nod. "Well you're right, Jack. Brains." But then he pulled forth that cane again. Here it was. We were about to watch some poor kid be beat, all because he couldn't keep his mouth shut.

"But I got brains, too," he went on, standing, hitting the cane to the ground before picking it up and pointing it to David's face. "And more than just half of one."

He turned to Jack now, and the kind words they'd used to appease him were forgotten. He was back to being Spot Conlon, feared leader of Brooklyn. "How do I know you punks won't run the first time some goon comes at'chya with a club? How do I know you got what it takes to win?" Spot had a particular hatred for cowards. They weren't allowed in Brooklyn, and he'd be damned if he was going to ally himself with a bunch of street rats who cried for their mothers at the first sign of trouble. He wouldn't want to appear weak.

"Because I'm telling you, Spot," Jack said.

Spot looked at him, thoughtfully, but turned away and walked a few paces. "That aint good enough, Jacky-boy. You've gotta show me." It was clear that he wouldn't be swayed. He'd made his decision, and he was going to stand by it. Dragon was going to love this information, it seemed that Laces wasn't going to be the only bird to awarded good graces today.


	9. Sieze the Day

**9. Seize the Day**

_By Laelyn_

**Bird On Watch: Fifth Avenue **

"Fifth Avenue?"

I turned around at the sound of his voice and sized up the squirrelly little boy who was looking up at me. "Yeah, who's askin'?"

"I got message from Dragon Giammo," he said, fidgeting anxiously; I suspect he had another message to deliver elsewhere – gawd, I'm glad I ain't a runner.

"Well, spit it out kid. I ain't got all day."

"Dragon wants to see you," he said quickly.

I rolled my eyes. Why did there always have to be a middle man? For once, couldn't Dragon send the message directly – I mean, ain't that what he's got the runners for? Didn't he know that going all the way to Brooklyn meant that my entire day would be wasted? I think sometimes he forgets that I ain't really one of his birds. I mean, I don't mind doing a favor every once in a while, but I generally prefer to work alone.

Looking back at the message carrier, I suppressed my irritation with the leader of the Brooklyn birds.

"Yeah, alright then," I grumbled and flipped him a penny for his trouble; before I could say another word, he disappeared into the crowd. I looked around and sighed; my stretch of Fifth Avenue was bustling with New York's finest today – excellent business conditions for a girl like me, a pickpocket. I knew from experience, however, that ignoring a message from Brooklyn would only bring about trouble, so it looked like business was going on the road today.

Every time I go down to the Brooklyn docks, I'm reminded as to why I love Manhattan so much - I really can't stand the foul stench that radiates from the gray-blue waters of the bay. Carefully avoiding the empty cargo boxes, scattered along the route, I picked my way across the docks. I scanned my surroundings as I moved because I knew I was being watched, being followed, but that was typical when you entered into Brooklyn. Dragon had birds everywhere, and the closer you got to their nest, the more eyes they had on you.

I've only been to the nest a few times, but the giant, rundown warehouse that sat on the pier was easy enough to find. I walked up to the closest door and pounded my fist against it – you'd think with all those eyes watching the place they'd know I was here. Seconds later the door scraped open and a beefy boy stepped out.

"What'd ya want?" he asked sharply, narrowing his eyes at me. I held my ground, looking back at the muscle-head.

"I'm here to see Dragon," I said firmly.

"Name?"

"Fifth Avenue, you twit. Now take me to see him, yer wastin' my time," I replied, annoyed by the formalities. It was like I said earlier, I ain't officially one of the birds, but I've worked with them before, trading information. The questions were all part of the security that surrounded the Brooklyn birds and I respected it, even though at the moment I was irritated.

The goon, who goes by the name of Bookie, led me up a couple flights of stairs and into a small room where his leader was perched on a tattered orange sofa. Dragon Giammo looked up and gave Bookie a nod, which was his cue to leave.

"Yer costin' me a whole day's work, Dragon, this better be good," I said without any greeting.

I wasn't usually this snippy, but I hated being called for like a dog; I'd rather they just sent someone to me when they wanted information. The boy must have sensed my aggravation because he egged me on a little.

"So, what's the latest in Manhattan?" he asked, patiently. I pressed my lips together and stared at him for a moment before enlightening him – this couldn't be all he wanted.

"Well, I've got it on good authority that Jack Kelly and his newsies are stirrin' up trouble for Pulitzer." I figured he already knew about this, since the streets were chirping with this news. "There is talk of them goin' on stike and it seems like they are tryin' to get other newsies to join them."

He nodded with a distant expression. "Good; then yer up to date with recent events."

We stared at each other for a moment. It was in the moment that I finally understood why he summoned me here. "So, I take it you want more information on this strike?"

Dragon nodded, scratching a match against the wall and lighting up a cigarette. "There's definitely something big brewin' in Manhattan right now, so we need all ears to the ground for this one, and Spot reckons you've got a knack for collectin' information. So, we'd like yer help."

I quirked a brow; it's for this exact reason that I am glad only a select few people in Manhattan and Brooklyn think of me as an elite source of information – being a pickpocket, I hear all kinds of things. But that doesn't mean I want every ink-stained newsy leader enlisting me for help. It was only by chance that I fell into good graces with Spot Conlon and the Brooklyn side of things, but that's a story for another time.

"What sort of help?" I inquired.

"We need an extra set of eyes and ears in Manhattan. Anything you pick up on, you report directly to me." He took a drag from his cigarette. "What'd ya say?"

I sucked in a deep, decisive breath, considering my options, but in the same moment that I was going to agree, someone came thundering up the stairs. Seconds later the door burst open and that pesky little kid from earlier this morning came flying in. He skidded to a stop as soon as he noticed me, and then hurried to Dragon's side and whispered something in his ear. I watched the exchanged, but Dragon only nodded a few times without a change in his expression.

"Ya done good, Runner." He looked up at me and the boy followed his gaze. "I think you know Fifth Avenue."

We both nodded, acknowledging one another. I wasn't about to make friendly with every bird in Brooklyn; it wasn't why I was here. I looked over at Dragon. It seemed like this strike was serious business, so naturally I couldn't contain my own curiosity in the matter. "Alright, I'm in – but only 'til it's over; then it's back to business as usual."

"Good. I'll just fill you in on some details then. Runner just came from Spot; Jack and a couple of his newsies were there, asking if Brooklyn would join in the strike. Spot ain't entirely convinced of their seriousness, so he ain't gonna be joinin' 'em just yet. So I'm thinkin' maybe you should take a stroll through the square outside the World building this afternoon – see what you can gather. Pockets should be around there somewhere; he'll fill ya in on anything important. Ya know him right?"

"Yeah, I know Pockets," I replied. Pockets was in the same line of business that I was, and in a trade like ours we are well acquainted with one another, so as not to get in each other's way.

"Good," he said flatly. "Oh, and another thing: you'll want keep a look out for a reporter from the Sun named Denton. He's been in contact with Kelly about the strike. He'll be pretty well dressed: a suit and maybe a bowler hat. Anyway, just keep yer eyes peeled; if he's still lingering around it means he must sense its something worth writing about."

I nodded.

"Alright, I expect to hear something from ya this evenin'."

I turned to leave, but when I reached the door, I looked back and smirked. "Oh, by the way, ya might wanna have a chat with yer birds on Fifth Avenue – I've seen a couple of 'em sleepin' on the job." Then, I left the room.

I suppose I wasn't meant to find Pockets once I reached the square; he would have to find me instead. Boy that kid could hide like no other, which made him ideal for a bird. I, on the other hand, preferred the art of hiding in plain sight, blending into my surroundings – it was a skill that hadn't failed me yet. I think it helped that I didn't exactly dress like every other kid on the street. Nope, I'd saved up some of the money from a couple of big picks and bought me a proper dress. It's easy to pinch something from one of them dandies when you're dressed like one.

Waiting, I leaned against a column outside G.M. James & Company and rolled my eyes up and down the newly decorated Horace Greeley statue. There was a newspaper hat on top of his head and some sort of necklace around his metal neck. A couple of freshly painted signs were propped up in his lap. Passersby expressed various feelings over Horace's décor when they caught sight of him.

"Sorry 'bout that, Ave. I was just tryin' to catch the last of a conversation," Pockets said, walking up beside me.

"Is there anything I gotta know?"

"It's been pretty quiet 'round here. I think they're just waitin' for Jack to show up. I don't think they've had much luck recruiting from the other boroughs," Pockets replied with a shrug.

I nodded, scanning the square for a decent perch, as the birds would call it. "Okay. Thanks, Pockets."

We parted ways without saying good-bye, moving in opposite directions. I crossed to a bench that sat off to one side of the Greeley statue, in front of an old bookstore, so that I could watch Jack Kelly's inner circle of newsies. Yeah, I know who's in Jack's inner circle – what kind of Manhattan street kid would I be if I didn't know the newsies? I may not be a bird by trade, but I've got my ways of gathering information. I've helped Jack out here and there, but I ain't no double-crosser. I just pass information along. I ain't here to get anybody in any trouble.

Skittery, Racetrack, and Les sat at the foot of the statue, rolling dice from what I could tell – that ain't nothing out of the ordinary though. Crutchy and Swifty were working on another sign, as were some of the other fellas. The smaller boys were horsing around with pieces of wood, using them like swords and dueling one another.

I hadn't been sitting for five minutes when Jack Kelly strolled onto the scene, followed by Boots and that new kid, David. As he neared the base of the statue, the other boys pooled around him, anxious to hear the report from Brooklyn. They huddled together discussing the latest events – no one looked very happy.

Abandoning my perch, I moved in closer so that I could hear what there were saying. There were enough people milling about the square that I wouldn't look too suspicious. Pretending to admire Horace Greeley, I kept my attention trained on Jack and his boys.

"Without Spot and the others, there ain't enough of us, Jack – ya know?" said Kid Blink, glancing at Mush for reassurance.

Mush agreed. "Maybe we're movin' too soon; maybe we ain't ready, ya know?"

As all the others agreed with Mush and Blink, I surveyed the rest of the square. There didn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary – well, aside from this suspicious gathering of rebellious newspaper boys. I was standing next to a lady with a parasol – there seemed to be a lot of them in the square today. Just then, something caught my eye; the handbag that was tucked under the lady's arm was open slightly, just enough for me to score something good. My fingers itched for the opportunity, but I gritted my teeth and turned my attention back to the newsies – I had another job to do.

"Yeah, we're not Brooklyn," Racetrack was saying while others nodded their agreement.

"Who we kidding here? Spot was right. Is it just a game to you guys?" Jack snapped back, looking annoyed. The boys mumbled various responses of uncertainty; it was obvious that they didn't want to disappoint Jack, but at the moment the odds seemed against them.

Now if I hadn't witnessed it, I wouldn't have believed it myself – but it wasn't Jack who lit a fire under their bums and picked up their spirits – it was that David. Boy that kid's got some nerve, being new and all. Anyway, he comes gliding around the statue telling the boys to "seize the day" and "don't be afraid and don't delay," using those hoity-toity words he'd learned from school. Every newsboy in the square was eating up David's words by the spoonful; they started jumping around, practically dancing with renewed enthusiasm for their strike against Pulitzer.

While they were all distracted with David's rousing speech, I took the opportunity to have a look around. I knew I wasn't the only bird in the vicinity, but I didn't want to miss something important. It was a typical morning crowd, pairs of ladies wandered through the square on their morning strolls; business men meandering down the street on their way to work. A few people had even stopped to listen to the loudmouthed newsies as they whooped and hollered – they were quite a sight to behold. Though really it was mostly children with mistresses and maids that had stopped, small children that didn't know what hardship was from the look of their clothing. It was then that my eye caught hold of a man seated on the bench I had vacated, dressed in a sharp suit. I wouldn't have given him a second thought if it weren't for the pen and paper he had poised on his lap, and the tip from Dragon. He was watching Jack and the boys with an intentional, but thoughtful gaze. This had to be that newspaper reporter – what's his name? Denton – that Jack had somehow wrangled into the developments. He seemed to think they were worth another look. I turned my attention back on the boys, but I would have to keep an eye on the reporter.

When the boys had finally calmed down long enough, Jack looked like he was about to start on some long winded speech, but the clanging of the circulation bell interrupted him.

"Did anybody hear that?" Jack shouted at the posse of striking newsies.

"No!" They all yelled back in response.

"So, what're we gonna do about it?" Jack replied eagerly.

"Soak 'em!" hollered the mob, and immediately the boys tore off toward the gate.

Not wanting to be trampled, I followed closely behind the thundering herd. They flooded into the distribution center, chasing the newsies who hadn't joined in the strike up the ramp – they had nowhere else to go. I lingered by the gates, watching as a couple of newsboys surrendered to the mutinous group that awaited them. What happened next happened so quickly, I almost didn't catch it. From my angle, all I saw was a one rather large newsboy standing in front of Jack one minute and the next all hell had broken loose – there were newsies everywhere.

Newspapers rained from the sky as the boys destroyed every edition they could get their hands on; tomatoes went flying through the air as well. Jack was standing at the distribution window, apparently taunting Mr. Wiesel and the Delancey brothers, who had barricading themselves inside. It was pure chaos; boys and newspaper debris everywhere. They even managed to push over one of the wagons that had been filled with papers. It was quite a spectacle.

I was so engrossed by the melee that I didn't realize Denton was as close as he was – that was until I bumped into him. He hardly flinched; he was too wrapped up in the scene to notice much of anything else. It was then that I heard a shrill whistle, a sound that instantly made my skin crawl – it was the bulls, and they were getting closer. I looked over my shoulder at the square; the mounted police were making their way through the crowd, tweeting at people to get out of the way. I turned back to boys. Jack must have heard the whistles too, because he was suddenly yelling for the boys to "cheese it."

There was a stampede back through the gates as the boys rushed to safety. I backed into a corner to avoid the flood and watched as them scatter as the bulls closed in. It was then that I noticed the look on Denton's face. It was a look of horrible realization. I leapt forward, peering around the gate. From between the flanks of two horses, I got a look at the Delanceys as they dragged a struggling Crutchy away.

My heart sank; I didn't know really know Crutchy all that well, but I knew the Oscar and Morris Delancey well enough to know that he was in a heap of trouble.

The light bulb suddenly turned on in my head. I had to get word someone, Spot, Dragon – anyone, it didn't matter. I turned on my heel and ran.

Wanting to catch my breath after a while, I ducked into an alley. After refueling on oxygen, I let out a rather pathetic little whistle – hoping that someone was nearby to hear. It only took a minute of more ridiculous whistling for someone to catch on.

"News?" she said quickly and without a greeting.

I nodded. "Manhattan newsies just did a number on Pulitzer's distribution center. The bulls were called in and everything. They all got away – I think – except Crutchy. The Delancey's got him."

The girl's eyebrow pricked up skeptically. "I'll send the news along, but yer gonna want to go see Dragon. Give him the full details in person."

I scowled. "I'm on my way."

She left as quickly as she came – not that I wanted her linger any longer than necessary. I peered around the corner to be sure she was good and gone; when I turned back around my heart nearly stopped – in more ways than one – I still wasn't alone. Having crept out of the shadows, Kid Blink was standing opposite me, leading against the building with arms folded.

"What brings ya to this part of town, Fifth Avenue?"

I shrugged. "I figured with the ruckus you boys are stirring up, you'd draw a decent crowd - and ya know how a crowd's good for my line of business."

Blink smiled; I felt my knees quiver under me.

"So, really, what is all this striking business about?"

It was Blink's turn to shrug. "You know Jack, always fightin' for something – not that this ain't good reason or nothing. I just ain't so sure we can pull it off without help from other newsies."

I nodded. "Well, I mean, after word gets out about what just happened, I'm sure Spot will realize yer bein' serious about it and join you. Once Brooklyn joins, the others will follow."

Blink grinned, shaking his head. "How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Know so much!"

I chuckled. "A little birdie tells me."

"Yeah, yeah, alright, I better be getting' back. You take care of yerself, Fifth Avenue," Blink added. "I'll see ya around."

As he turned to leave, my mind skipped to Crutchy. "Wait, Kid." He turned. "Crutchy didn't get away in time. The Delanceys got him."

Blink's face lit up in alarm. "Thanks," he said and then ran back down the alley and out of sight.

I pondered the encounter for a moment and then whisked away – better not to keep Dragon waiting for too long.


	10. The Refuge

Editor's Note: There have been no changes to the content of this chapter, just an added note at the end. As a preview of the choose your own bird format, we hope to make this story as it finishes up here. Thanks! (9/5/11)

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**10. The Refuge**

**By Giggles**

**Bird on watch - Giggles**

I heard the whistle calling for a new bird, and it was my watch, so I sat up. I had been catching some sleep on top of a building. From here I could see down into the distribution center. I could also see that there was something going on, or rather, something had gone on. Pieces of ripped newspapers floated around, and I saw newsboys running down the street. With the little sleep that I get as a bird, I tend to be able to sleep through anything including the current frenzy.

I jumped up from my perch. I had to find Jack, or Dragon might get upset. We had all been told that we were to keep a particularly close eye on Jack during whatever might unfold with the newsies of Manhattan. So it wouldn't do if I had missed the leader flee from the sight of raining papers, it wouldn't do at all. I finally tracked down Jack, who happened to be with David at the apartment building that Linger had located only two days ago. Since then though I knew that Shadow, Mischief, Skaggs and even Pockets had been on watch here. It was my first time here, but from all the updates on the place I felt like I had been here a million times. I kept to the shadows, watching as the two boys talked agitatedly. Something was up, and I would need to find out exactly what it was.

After a few minutes I was able to catch something about Crutchy being taken away. I frowned. I had heard about this whole strike thing, and I never thought Manhattan would have the guts to stand up to Pulitzer. I was wrong. Now, one of their boys was gone, probably taken to the refuge, a place more horrible then the streets themselves. I sat, watching the two until the sun went down. I wasn't really listening to their hushed tones, being too far away I was trying not to be distracted by the game being played by the kids of the building. Summer nights in the city were the hardest times for me to focus on my targets, so many others were enjoying moments of carefree abandon while I sat lurking, waiting, watching and listening to whatever Dragon wanted. My dwelling only lasted until Jack and David began to move. I kept behind them, staying in the shadows, walking quiet as a cat.

At fourteen, I was a younger bird. I was also small for my age, and many would think I was eleven or twelve. I attained my nickname because I tended to giggle. I found things funny nearly all the time. This was something Dragon had been skeptical about when I first became a bird. A bird can't laugh when they're supposed to be in secret. Dragon soon learned however, that I could hold in my giggles when on the job. It was necessary. I had become a bird at age twelve, glad to leave the newsie life. As I followed behind, I began to recognize the way we were going. The one place I hated. The one place I had guessed Crutchy would be. Then I saw the gates, and knew I was right.

" So here it is," Jack said, David walking with him. " The refuge, my home sweet home." I inched along the refuge wall, not wanting to be seen in the light of the lamps along the way. The refuge was the place I had spent a year in, when I was ten. Somehow, I don't know how exactly, I got free. No one escaped from the refuge. Well, no one but Jack Kelly. Somehow though, somehow, I did.

" How can you be sure they sent Crutchy here?" David asked, looking at the place. I shook my head at his naivety. He certainly didn't hadn't spent any time on the streets. You didn't even have to be a bird to understand that when a kid got caught doing something the people in charge didn't like they would be locked away.

" How can I be sure the Delancey's stink? It's just the way thing work ya know? An orphan gets arrested, Snyder makes sure he gets in straight here, so he can rehabilitate him ya know? The more kids in a refuge, the more money the city sends to take care of them, and the more money Snyder sticks in his pocket." I nodded as he spoke. Though he didn't see me, I agreed with him.

" So how come you brought the rope?" David asked. I gaped, smacking my head. I hadn't even that Jack had a rope. And a bird should notice everything. The refuge was foggy up my vision, keeping me from being able to concentrate. I stared at Jack and David, really studying them for a moment noticing the details about them. Jack had his funny cowboy hat on his head and the rope curled in his hand. While David wore a blue shirt, I wondered if this might be the same shirt that Tavern saw him in yesterday. I suspected it might be. Suddenly, I heard someone coming, and Jack and David apparently did as well. They hid in a the shadows of an alcove next to the carriage entrance. They stood as motionless as the barrels beside them in the dark, as a person began unlocking the gates. I pushed myself farther into the shadows, away from and light, and watched as a wagon with two nuns pulled out. I saw Jack and David sneak in, and I knew I would have to get in there as well.

I knew I wasn't going to be able to make it by the gate, so I quickly spotted a building near the refuge. I ran over to it, and found a fire escape. I was losing valuable time, so, going as fast as I possibly could, I climbed up, and rolled onto my belly atop the roof. I didn't want anyone to see me. I inched up to the edge of the roof, and looked down. It was the perfect spot. The building I was atop was higher then the one Jack and David were on, so I could effectively see them, without them seeing me. I knew I had missed something because Jack was hanging down from the roof by the rope he had brought, talking to one of the boys.

After a moment the boy inside walked off, Jack shaking his head about something the boy said. Then, an oddly longer bit of time than it should have taken and Crutchy was at the window. I could partly see him, though Jack blocked most of the window. From this far it was a little hard to hear what was going on, but I strained my ears. I still couldn't hear as they talked though and banged my head in frustration. I saw Crutchy look up to where David was on the roof, and this time I caught it.

" Heya Dave, how ya doing?" I listened again, but all I heard was David quieting him with a loud " Shh." Jack looked back and Crutchy, and this time all I heard was, " Getcha outta here."

I was able to see Crutchy look down for a moment in seemingly dismay. Then he looked back into the room, and started speaking again. I couldn't understand much of it.

" Ain't.. So.. Oscar..worked..little..know?" From these few words I could guess what had happened. Another classic Delancey move. Hurting those weaker then themselves. Sometimes I wish I could beat them up myself, but, being a bird, I'm supposed to be invisible. If I was stupid enough to call so much attention to myself, Dragon might just let me killed by the Delancey Brothers. Though I had heard whispers that Dragon might have gotten into a fight with those goons, a fight where he instilled in them a fear of ever going near any of his birds again. Though that would mean that the apes knew who we were, which they don't, so who knows how true that rumor is?

" Hurt you?" I was able to catch the last part of Jack's sentence. I saw Crutchy nod his head almost regretfully. Jack spoke again, and Crutchy's face changed.

" Hey," he said in a louder pitch. " I don't want nobody carrying me. Never! Ya hear?" Then, as if he'd forgotten what he just said, Crutchy looked up. " Hey! Hey Davey! You know they still talk about how Jack rode outta here on that coach!" David seemed to smile slightly.

" Oh yeah, Teddy Roosevelt's right?" I snickered. I remembered the story from another bird telling me. Jack had made it out of the refuge with the governor. Again, the words seemed softer when Crutchy next spoke, and I caught bits and pieces.

" You.. heard..story.." Well, every newsie had heard the story. From Brooklyn to the Bronx, it was known. I wasn't sure if that had to do with Jack's popularity, the newsies love to gossip or our, the birds, ability to spread news like fire.

" You mean it's true?" David asked, incredulously. Crutchy was even more so at his question.

" Of course!" I didn't catch what he said next, but Snyder must have been coming because he went away from the window, and Jack swung to be beside the window where people in the room could not see him.

I sucked in my breath, holding it when I saw the man with his walking stick. Snyder had almost ruined my life. I couldn't see much into the room, so I waited, still watching. After a little bit, Snyder came up to the window, and I could see his face pretty clearly. I grimaced. Crutchy approached the warden, stopping him from looking out the window. He began to speak, but I couldn't hear any of the words he spoke.

I grunted in frustration. I saw Crutchy turn, still talking, and Snyder followed him. Jack swung back over, and David began pulling him up. I saw one of the boys from the refuge come up, and watch out of the barred window. Then another joined him, and I watched for a moment before making my way to the edge of the building.

I climbed down the fire escape, and stuck my hands in my pockets. I calculated in my mind the time I had been on watch, then sighed, relieved. My shift, for now, was over. Time for me to go get something to eat, then I would head back to bed. I whistled, glad for my strong lungs. Then I grinned, tucking my braids behind my shoulders. Before I ate a thing, I would go report to Dragon. I already knew I was going to make up the parts I hadn't heard and I giggled at the thought of Dragon actually believing me. Though deep down I knew that the old leader of the birds would just pretend to believe me, because he could stop a lie from across the Brooklyn Bridge.

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_What bird do you want to follow? Stone (chapter 11- Stone) or Pockets/ Laces (Chapter 12 - Pockets/Laces). Both are different versions of Seize the Day Chorale. Enjoy!_


	11. Sieze the Day Chorale Stone

Seize the Day (Chorale)

By Spy

Bird on Watch: Stone

The goons who work in the Manhattan Distribution Office have always rubbed me the wrong way. They think they're superior just because they're working on the other side of the bars—because they get paid per hour instead of per paper, because their hands don't end up stained with newsprint at the end of the day. Their attitudes wouldn't bother me if they were good at their work. Hell, we're only human—I'd give them that. But the fact they're sloppy and stupid, like they can't be bothered to care… That grinds my gears. Ground them when I sold the news in Manhattan, and still grinds them now that I'm in the business of collecting it for Brooklyn.

Of course, Dragon Giammo doesn't know that or he would never have put me on duty watching the two of them. He likes impartial reports, after all—"journalistic integrity," he smirked when he offered me the post. Four-dollar words to describe that first, four-dollar job. Then again, maybe he knew my mind already, and that was why he sent Gin with me. Keep me straight until I knew all the ropes. After all, spying's different from my old job hauling cargo by the river. We must have looked a pair—the bulky, British boy and the slip of a Chinese girl leaning off the fire escape of the Manhattan Distribution Office like two crows on a wire.

It was early morning, maybe five, and the whole building shook with the rattle of the presses beneath our feet. Gin yawned and stretched, catlike, against the iron railing. If anyone could embody distraction, it was her. She was practically indecent, her shirt half-unbuttoned and her skirt hiked up past her ankles. When she stretched, the notches in her spine popped like firecrackers.

"See them yet?" she asked me after a while. I shrugged, staring straight down at the empty courtyard beneath us. "Well, then, you think they'll be in soon?" I shrugged again. She cocked her head to the right and squinted at me hard, like she was trying to squeeze lemons with her eyes. "You don't talk much, do you, Stone?"

_You talk too much_, I thought irritably. It was hard to stay focused on the courtyard with her there. Gin had been beautiful, once. Rumor has it she was engaged to marry some boy from the Bowery before the factory accident that left half her face pitted and scarred. Even now, glimpses of beauty flickered through the wounds.

"You don't hafta be so gruff with me," she teased, prodding me playfully in the upper arm. "Didn't you hear the Dragon? We're on the same team."

_Gruff? Who's gruff?_ I thought, but caught the words before they snuck past my teeth. Silence would serve me better than useless chatter. This was my first mission as part of Dragon's Birds, and with his advance (four whole dollars!) jangling in my pocket, all I could think was that side conversation might keep us from noticing something important.

So, instead of rising to her bait, I jerked a thumb at the loading dock: "Look."

The goons, Oscar and Morris Delancey, barreled out of the side door of the Distribution Office swinging heavy, burlap bags-two apiece, one clutched in each meaty hand. Morris was having trouble with his—it dragged and skidded on the wooden planks of the loading dock, making an ugly, dull, clanging noise.

"Well, well," A smile crept across Gin's face, its corners distorted by mottled scars. "Those sure aren't newspapers."

The Delancey Brothers. All muscle and spite, brains like rancid walnuts. I hadn't seen them in years, not since I was a kid selling papers, but time had done them no great favors. Even from our perch on the fire escape, I could still identify Morris' sloping walk and the grease-pencil moustache squirming above Oscar's rubbery lips. The two of them would've made better anchors than dockhands.

Gin stifled a laugh behind her narrow hands. Startled, I looked over at her. "Anchors? Really?" she said. I felt my face flush—I hadn't meant to say it out loud, "journalistic integrity" and all, but when I started to voice that, she clapped her warm palm over my mouth and pointed urgently downwards.

"Wha—"

"God_damn_, these are heavy!"

The Delanceys were talking. And not only were they talking, but we could _hear_ them, even three floors up. It didn't take long to figure out why. The walls of the Distribution Office are thick, red brick, and the pavement carries sounds like a concert hall. No wonder Gin picked the rooftops! Dragon had been right about her after all. I looked at her anew as she reclaimed her hand and wiped it down the front of her skirt. She caught me watching her and winked conspiratorially before returning her attention to the courtyard.

Straining my burning ears, I could pick out the brothers' words from the thrumming undercurrent of the printing presses:

"I mean, I hate Jack Kelly and the rest as much as the next SOB," Oscar was saying, his voice tense with exertion, "But this don't seem right. Feels like we're loading the deck."

"Just move it," Morris growled. The door snapped shut behind them; the bags lay lumpy and abandoned on the loading dock. Well, _that_ was informative. Shouldn't have expected much more from a couple of nut-brained thugs, I guess.

But they had left us something of interest—those sacks. Whatever they held, it had to do with Cowboy Kelly, and therefore with Gin and me.

"Think we should go check those out?" I asked. Gin didn't reply. I looked her way and realized like a dope that she was half gone already, slipping noiselessly down the hanging ladder of the fire escape. It shocked me how quiet she was— maybe I'd been distracted, but some Bird I was for missing that! I clambered down the stairs after her, my boots as loud on the metal steps as the curses ringing between my ears.

She was fast, far lighter on her feet than I was. By the time I reached her, she was elbow-deep in the first bag, her smile gone.

"Definitely not newspapers," she said, grimacing. Keeping one eye on the grimy, shaded windows of the Distribution Office, I peered over her shoulder. The unmistakable glint of metal winked up at me from the depths of the burlap. Brass knuckles. Chains. The weapons looked misplaced in the soft morning light.

Voices, muffled by walls and windows, pricked at my ears. I shook Gin's shoulder. "We need to go," I told her. She chuckled.

"What, a guy like you is scared of a couple anchors?"

Still, she rose to her feet, pocketing a set of knuckles twice the size of her hand in the process, and we scurried skyward up the fire escape—less Birds than Squirrels, I found myself thinking. Fat, lazy squirrels at that, or at least I was. Gin may be quick on her feet, but I'm built big and slow—out of breath not a block down the street. Better muscle than messenger.

Dragon knows that, I thought. _So why the hell did he send me to do this? _

"Well," Gin said, casting a glance back at the courtyard as I panted next to her. "Those aren't for decoration. We've got to report this."

"Want me to go?" I asked, though I knew the answer. Looking me up and down, she shook her head firmly.

"You stay and watch," she said, shoving her sleeves up her arms. "I'll be back when I can." Hiking up her skirt, she flew off across the rooftops in the direction of the docks; I watched her go and turned back in time to watch the Delanceys reappear, more sacks in their hands, cussing and muttering as they worked.

Gin had to be the one to go. The both of us running from the Lower East Side all the way back to Brooklyn would've taken time we didn't have to lose. Still, I couldn't help but feel uneasy without her as I watched the crowds of striking newsboys pool in front of the DO gates from the edge of the roof. It was, after all, my fledgling mission, and I had to say— for all her flightiness and her distraction, something about Gin put me at ease. Maybe it was the way she spoke—full sentences, grammatically-correct despite the foreignness licking her words. Her China-blue English made me somewhat less conscious about the accent tinting mine.

It's funny now, because thinking back, I remember my father assuring me that yes, everyone spoke English in America, and I should be grateful for it because I'd be miles ahead at school. I remember my misplaced, nine-year-old's confidence that English would mean instant friends and an instant place in the new world of New York City, a place above those other foreigners who had to learn from scratch.

It wasn't that simple. The Queen's English can get you by in the schoolhouse, but it has no place on the streets. The first day of recess at the schoolhouse meant a barrage of insults in a strange new tongue: "Hey, Professah!" and "Where'd you get that accent, kid?" A flurry without "r"s, a slush of words and slang that meant everything to the other kids and nothing to a newcomer like me.

It was brutal. The elocution I had been taught at home and in Bristol meant nothing; it turned out the only vocabulary I needed was the language of fists. As a newsie, I was beaten and laughed into corners until I learned how to "shut my trap," mimic the locals, and throw a mean punch. Come summer that first year—_Summah in thuh Ciddy_—I found new employment at the shipping companies, which meant more muscle and fewer problems. You start to garner a certain amount of respect once you've reached a certain size. I suppose it was only time before someone like Dragon Giammo stepped in and offered me a better deal than the shippers could.

Keep it up with Dragon's racket for a few years, you and I both know I won't get rich, but I'll get by. My mum will never ask where the extra money in the jar comes from or where I go at night, and I'm sure it's because she can't imagine her darling boy caught up in some filthy American gang. But the Birds aren't a gang, see. We aren't even a Union. We're just… A flock. A service. It's like loading crates without the lifting, doing someone favors. And after several years of actually lifting crates, that and the extra pay were appealing enough to me.

I reminded myself of that fresh, four-dollar jangle in my pockets as I watched Manhattan newsboys trickle in and cluster in front of the DO gates. Flying on the rooftop without Gin was rapidly becoming as dull as dock work, and I needed _some_ motivation. Leaning over the ledge, I could watch both sides of the tall, iron fence, but nothing stood out as strange or noteworthy: the Delanceys were hauling stacks of newspaper, now, and the newsies hoisted the same shabby protest signs I'd seen around the city for days. Soon, they'd start chanting, maybe rip up a few papers once the gates opened… Would I have to report that? Did I have to report things everyone would know about? Unsure, I was stuck diligently watching the tops of hats swarm together, though hats don't tell you much.

It must've been hours, standing there, waiting for Gin. Certainly felt like it. I remember wondering if spying was always this dull, or if today was a special occasion. The sun climbed over the buildings, and the temperature with it. In broad daylight on the rooftop, sweat prickled under my shirt and pooled in my socks. No breeze. It was an uncomfortable time standing watch, especially now that I wasn't even exactly sure what I was watching for. Leaning on the edge of the rooftop, I saw several more hands appear on the Delanceys' side of the gate: big, burly guys from the shape of them, with distant smears of hair and ink on their arms. Scabs, most like. The Weasel must've farmed out some of the labor now that the strike was in full-swing, picked the boys who wouldn't go down without a fight. They rooted through the burlap bags on the dock like a dead man's pockets. The metal off the chains glinted in the light.

Describe the scabs? Well, let's see. Older guys, the lot of 'em. Gruff, scruffy... Mean. The kind with tobacco-stained teeth, the ones that reek of brothels and grime. Clearly hired muscle— the same kind we got down strikebreaking at the Docks. Maybe even the same men. Doubtless their hands were the right size for the brass knuckles we'd seen earlier. They stocked up, then most of the men vanished behind the heavy doors at the back of the courtyard

Now, _that _action was interesting. I watched them go with a morbid sort of curiosity and a growing sense of dread. I admit I had some lingering qualms about the whole "observer" thing I signed on for when I joined the Birds. We're not supposed to get involved, you see— we're supposed to sit and watch from the fences and report to Dragon, who reports to Spot Conlon, who then does all the thinking for us. That way, we're not accidentally representing Brooklyn anywhere Brooklyn maybe shouldn't be represented. I'd always agreed with that line of thought before—but then, I'd never been in a place to think otherwise. Back on the docks, you kept your nose on your face where it belonged.

But realizing that the scabbers were about to make mincemeat of the Manhattan kids— that twisted me up inside. Hell, I knew some of those kids. Knew that some of them can hardly take a punch, much less the pummeling coming for them. There was a hefty part of me that actually debated climbing back over the rooftops to warn them, to find that leader of theirs, Cowboy Kelly, and tell him that he and his army were about to charge into an ambush...

But no, it wasn't my job. Not my fight.

Even so, the question gnawed at my insides. I shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, fondled the coins in my pocket. Five more minutes and I swear I would've worked up the courage and gone—screw the Dragon, screw Spot Conlon, screw the four dollars lining my pocket. But then, I felt a light hand on my shoulder.

"Jeeze, Stone," Gin said, "Couldn't jump any higher than that?" I muttered something incoherent as she slid up next to me and peered down at the courtyard. She walked so _quietly_. I hadn't even heard her approach. "Well," she continued, "They've got a good crowd, haven't they?"

"What'd the Dragon say?" I asked. She grinned. Wisps of her long, black hair had escaped her braid and stuck to her shiny face like tiny cracks in a plate. Damp stains bloomed under her arms.

"That Spot Conlon doesn't think Cowboy Kelly should fight this one alone," she said, and pointed, not down into the courtyard but out, across the rooftops. For a moment, I couldn't understand what she was pointing at—the distant bridge, perhaps, or the shimmers of hot air rising off the brick… Then, pursing her lips, Gin whistled long and low.

From the opposite rooftop, a small, sharp trill cut through the air, much like the sound a jaybird makes at a cat. There was someone behind the building ledge—more than one, I realized. If I squinted against the sun, the tips of their cloth caps were just visible from where Gin and I stood.

"Who are—" I began, startled. I'd been so intent on watching the crowd I hadn't seen them arrive.

"Reinforcements," she said. "In case things go south."

I understood, then, why Giammo wanted me there. It wasn't because I'd be a good spy—ten minutes with Gin proved she could've gotten the information better and faster alone—but because I'd be a good fighter, were things to "go south" and the order come down to help Kelly fight. Judging by the caps peeking over the brickwork, news of the new scabs had pushed that order through. Spot Conlon was throwing his hat in the ring, and he'd be damned if he'd do it lightly.

A delivery cart of papers rumbled through the strikers; the courtyard spread its gated jaws just wide enough to let it pass. There had been a constant, dull roar from the strikers for a long while now, since the newsboys began to congregate, but with the appearance of the cart, they fell silent.

Silence is a funny thing. We don't think much about it when we're alone, but when a whole group stops and goes quiet—a whole crowd at once—something feels eerie, wrong. It's the feeling you get when lightning's about to strike. Your hair stands on end.

The scabs left in the courtyard began to trickle forth, mostly younger kids, newspapers in hand or under arm. The ranks closed and stopped, separated by twenty metres of empty cobblestone at the most.

"Alright," one of the newsboys called. Blue shirt, brown mop of hair. Couldn't make out more than that from my perch. "Everyone, remain calm."

A long, lingering pause. Then, Cowboy Kelly yelled: "Let's soak 'em for Crutchy!"

The storm broke. Kelly's side charged, roaring, at the thin line of scabs, and it looked like an easy victory: the scabs pounded at the back gates, desperate, it seemed, to escape the onslaught. Only those of us above knew the truth. I hazarded a glance at Gin. She stared stoically downwards, her eyes cold and distant. It was impossible to read her mind. I suddenly missed the light of her mottled smile.

The clanging of the front gate brought me back to the present. _Da Bulls_, doubtless on Pulitzer's dole, watched from horseback and let it slam shut. A tweed-wearing man with a camera yelled obscenities at one of them, only to be nearly trampled in reply. At first, the charging newsies didn't notice the gates, too flushed with the fight—but then, the doors at the back of the courtyard lurched open, and the tide of armed strikebreakers streamed forth. The ones in front panicked, began to turn around and yell, to warn the rest, but the chaos swallowed up their words.

Soon, Kelly's army was pinned: it was a perfectly-sprung trap. The men encircled the boys, forced one of the boys to the center of a circle to be taunted with swinging chains. On the roof, we drowned in the noise from the crowd.

My mouth went dry.

"Gin," I said, "I can't—I mean, we have to—"

She looked at me with even, steel-grey eyes. "You know Dragon, and you know Spot. We can't interfere until we get word."

"What word? What are you talking about?"

"Patience, Stone!" she snapped, like a plate shattering, "You'll know!"

As if on cue, a crow—a Bird—squawked above the riot and the toadstool hats across the way grew bodies and slingshots. Good God, they were everywhere! The docks back home must've been deserted, all the workers armed and here. And at their helm stood Spot Conlon himself, all smirks, the gold buckles of his red suspenders flashing in the sunlight.

"Never fear," he bellowed, "Brooklyn is here!"

Their appearance gave the battered Manhattan boys a second wind. They soon took up the cry: "It's Brooklyn!" "_Brooklyn_!"

And it was: Brooklyn on the rooftops. Brooklyn in the street. Brooklyn wrenching open the courtyard gates and rushing in like the Hudson River, driving back the strikebreakers with their sheer numbers, wielding sticks, bats, slingshots, and their fists. Let no one say Brooklyn shirks from a fight!

It was over before it started. The scabs were shoved back in their pen, the door barred. Weasel and the Delanceys barricaded themselves in the office, slamming the window shut. Tattered papers covered the ground, strewn like snowfall; kids were cheering their throats hoarse… Heck, Cowboy Kelly's smile was clear even from the rooftop—the irrational exuberance of victory. Funny, isn't it, what a little hope and an army can do? All the while that newspaper man in tweed was hollering at the lot of them, his camera poised like a rock in the sea of celebration: "Boys! Boys! Freeze! Freeze!"

If I were a betting man, I'd bet they're going to be on the front page of "The Sun" today.

Funny, I don't think I will have anything to report today. Spot certainly knows the story and so does Dragon. I saw him myself, leaning up against the dock steps at the end of it all, laughing like his sides would burst.

* * *

_Skip ahead to chapter 13 for the next part of the story, or read chapter 12 (Seize the Day Chorale- Pockets/ Laces) for another take on the same events._

REMEMBER: each of these chapters is written by a different author, review and let them know how you feel about their contribution!


	12. Sieze the Day Chorale Pockets Laces

**Seize the Day (Chorale)**

**By Laces **

**Bird on Watch: **Pockets

The heat of the summer sun was stinging the back of my neck as I shuffled my feet off the Brooklyn Bridge and back into my borough. The last three days had been trying to put it mildly. I had spent more time in Manhattan since the arrival of that schoolboy David than I had in Brooklyn, and I was beginning to even miss the East River.

I wasn't moving quickly anymore as lack of sleep and constantly running across the bridge can turn anyone's legs into useless weights. But I didn't have anything dire to report, well that's according to me and comparing to the other news I had heard whispering about me. Jack Kelly had been keeping busy last night trying to break Crutchy out of the refugee and almost getting caught. But my post during the night had been Irving Hall, not one snap of anything had happened there. Aside from the occasional drunk, the half dressed ladies and the crooked politician deal. I did observe a shady exchange between Tammany Boss Crocker and General Francis Vinton Greene, a clear plan to make Greene the favorite for Secretary of War appointment by President McKinley. And on a regular day Boss Crocker was a good enough report, even better when it involved something so intriguing as influencing the President of the United States but not today. I would report it, without the commentary that it seemed less important, but it would be less important. Dragon would remember the information days from now, when this strike was hopefully all over but today he would barely be paying attention.

As I turned into a small, dark alley that would hide me from the sun as I jogged back to the nest the whistling became shrill and urgent.

_Trap. Pulitzer is setting a trap for Jack Kelly's newsies. _The message was clear and coming from every direction. I started running before I even understood the message, my instincts kicking in with every whistle I heard.

_Joe had a meeting with Seitz and Weasel this morning. Recruiting men. Chains. Planning on locking them in… _

I was collecting the information slowly as the blood was rushing through my ears. I was too tired to be running this fast, I was too tired to be paying attention to anything besides my running. It was through sheer blind instinct beaten into me by Dragon that I was flying through the alley with purpose and precision.

Just as I was entering the nest I caught the last bit of a worried low message.

_Laces wants to tell Jack. _

I swallowed that last bit of information, there was no way I was going to tell Dragon Giammo that in a million years. I plowed through the entrance of the nest and stopped short of the broken table in front of Dragon, who was on his feet pacing.

"Trap set by Joe. Manhattan Newsies in trouble." I panted.

"When?" Dragon questioned.

"When gates open." I hiccuped. "Manhattan has a plan to stop others from selling papers…" I reminded Dragon, trying to make a coherent thought even though I knew that Dragon remembered the Manhattan Newsies plan.

"RUNNER!" Dragon shouted. I watched Spot Conlon's younger cousin appear ready at Dragon's side. I felt the lead in my legs again and a sharp pain in the right side of my chest with every breath was taking made it hard to focus. I felt the judging eyes of Dragon rest on my chest for a second, could he hear my labored breathing? Would that matter right now? Was he making a mental note about making me run more regularly?

"You and I are going to get Spot." Dragon started. For a second I thought he was talking to me, forcing me to stay awake and remain active as a punishment for my blatant less than satisfactory performance this morning. But then Runner started responding and I let out a gasp of relief. Again I noticed Dragon's eyes studying me, I could feel his mind calculating not only whatever was happening outside in the city but also what was happening right now just with me. Dragon Giammo was made to be the leader of the birds, made to react and anticipate.

"I can go alone…" Runner started trying to assert his ability. Dragon growled as he slipped his cap on his head. I was trying hard to keep my feet planted to the ground, trying hard not to start swaying or worse sit down and fall asleep. I wanted to sleep, just for a little while before heading back out, surely that couldn't be too much to ask. Dragon's voice dragged me out of me internal conflict.

"You will follow him to Manhattan alone, I am only going to Conlon with you." Dragon explained to Runner harshly letting his annoyance be known. He didn't like explaining himself. I understood the action in the back of my mind; Dragon wanted Spot to go to Manhattan. But only Dragon could make that clear to someone like Spot, Runner would get nothing out of Spot but a bloody lip.

"Why?" Runner asked as he started pacing behind Dragon. I inwardly groaned at Runner's inability to just shut his mouth. Dragon's hand smacked the back of young Conlon's head. The two men walked past me, Dragon casually knocked into my side testing me to see if I would hold my ground. I swayed slightly but I didn't fall, I just clenched my jaw and waited. The movement in the air, that I might have imagined, made me think Dragon nodded with a degree of pride.

"This is what we've been waiting for, Pockets get some sleep before I get back." I heard the heavy shuffle that was the start of Dragon's running. I listened as Runner's heels beat into the dirt behind me sprinting to keep up with the seasoned leader of the birds. I knew Dragon didn't look back, I knew that he wouldn't look back but I stood perfectly still until I didn't hear the footsteps anymore. Dragon had given me an order. All I needed was realize the command and I fell onto Dragon's favorite chair and fell asleep before thinking about the unhealthy bed choice.

~*~ whistles ~*~

**Bird on Watch: Laces **

"You've got to let me go," I begged and struggled. Shadow was holding me up against a wall and for a bird that rarely got into a fight the bird had a lot of strength to him. I smacked my head against the bricks behind me and stared up at the red frame of the side window of the Custom Dress Shop.

"You cannot get involved." Shadow whispered to me. I detected the begging in his voice, he wasn't ordering or commanding. Shadow was begging me to not get involved. I had been the bird who noticed first this morning. It had been Tavern who had alerted everyone to the meeting of Joe, Seitz and Weasel but it had been me that understood it's meaning. I had been sitting up on top of the Basset, Aborne & Motley Fancy Stationary shop right next to the selling docks. I had watched the older men, many of them in ominous bowler hats, get paid off to hide behind the distribution gates. I had seen the chains and bats and known what was going to happen, what Joe's meeting had been about.

I wasn't the only bird in Greenly Square that morning and when I had taken off running towards the Lodging House, everyone understood where I was going. I wasn't the only quick witted bird of Brooklyn after all. Shadow had chased me down, across the square and pushed me against the brick wall of the Custom Dresses shop right behind Horace Greenly. It wasn't the most of the way spot, as it was proving right now, with the dirty looks from a girl in a pink skirt that made me want to gag. Shadow had held me against that wall as Tavern had come down and snapped at me to follow the rules. Shadow had held me as Mouse tried to genuinely convince me it was a bad idea to tell Jack Kelly anything. It felt like I had been up against this wall for an eternity. So many birds were in this square, and not one of the rest of them had bothered to think for themselves about this one moment in time. Not one of them would dare to break Dragon's number one rule even for Jack.

I kicked my boot-clad foot out and almost hit Shadow this time. The boy was quick, quicker than I had ever given him credit for before this moment.

"They are already here." Shadow whispered. He slowly let go of me and my feet touched the ground for the first time in what I was convinced ages. I could hear them all even if I couldn't see them right away. They were gearing up. They were taunting their oppressors. And they were being stupid. No one wins a fight by having little kids run around with brass drums. No one.

I was prepared to struggle against Shadow but he had disappeared from my side. I knew he was right about getting involved but I was infuriated. I hated the stupid crowd of women in front of me that were blocking my view. I hated the one in the pink skirt the most for glaring at me like I was doing something wrong when Shadow had me pushed up against the wall. I was livid at the stupid police officer that I saw trotting into the street on his horse, knowing he was here not to help the newsies but to help the powerful Joe Pulitzer.

I took in a deep breath and stared up at the buildings to my right. Several windows were open and about 9 people were starring out onto the rallying scene of the square. Again I felt the fury build up in me, how was it that no one felt the need to help. How could a entire city sit up in their homes and just watch as boys faced an impossible battle?

I stepped past the girl in the obnoxious pink skirt and straw hat that made her look ridiculous. I ignored the rude remarks from the maid that was with her speaking to a businessman in a strange green colored coat. I was in the square when the horse drawn World distribution carriage came out and made the newsboys disperse like the red sea in that story about Moses. It was a miracle that one of the boys didn't knock into the women on the sidewalk with their precious parasols.

I walked closer to the boys, closer to the statue where I could duck and hide if I needed to but I knew the boys weren't going to turn around today. I heard Race mutter something and then came David's levelheaded command.

I could vaguely see the group of boys standing at the gates, other newsies that were just trying to make a living. A group of boys that didn't care that Jack Kelly thought they should be a union.

"Everyone remain calm." David suggested. Yes, remain calm. Don't go into the selling docks, I begged but I knew the Manhattan boys better than that. I knew Jack Kelly better than that.

"Let's soak 'em for Crutchy!" I heard the command and I had to clutch the fence around Horace Greenly's statue to not follow out the order myself. I watched as the ragged army stormed the distribution center and the shouting started. I didn't hear it myself, but later I heard from one of the other birds that it was Race who finally warned Jack Kelly it was a trick. But by then it was too late.

The gates closed as Denton, that reporter everyone else has been talking about, came up carrying a camera. I could hear the chains now, maybe I was imagining how loud they were but I knew there were chains. Denton tried to get into the selling docks but that Police Officer on the horse that I hated earlier wasn't allowing it. I knew I disliked that stupid man, on his high horse like he was upholding some law.

"Aren't you going to stop them sir?" Denton asked. The reporter was angry, a tone of indignation and judgment as he took steps back away from the horse that was pushing him out of the way.

"Move along mister." The stupid officer suggested and I wanted to throw something at the man on the horse. I knelt down to find a decent sized rock that would bruise the officer to my liking when I heard the shouting. My heart stopped, someone was hurt. That would be the only reason for shouting in a situation like this, unless of course…

"BROOKLYN!" I heard the shouting and I snapped my head back up. Brooklyn was here? Spot was here? Shouldn't I have heard if Spot Conlon was on his way here? Had I been listening? What was the last update I had heard? When was the last time I had been paying attention?

I forced myself to breath and to listen, but more importantly to look. I scanned my surroundings, there was no one from Brooklyn in the square and then I regained my senses because I looked up just as Spot was flying into the selling docks. I counted 13 Brooklyn boys, holding their slingshots and aiming into the pit of fighting below.

I noticed Runner Conlon ducking behind the brick ledge of one of the buildings and knew Brooklyn had not gotten here with help from some little bird. I understood finally that we had gotten involved, just not by telling Jack like I had wanted. I saw the crowd of more Brooklyn Newsies on the ground now, storming through the square as Spot Conlon triumphantly pulled open the distribution gates.

I could hear Dragon's voice in my head, which was not a good sign. I could hear him explain the plan to me, explain how important it was that Manhattan got in this jam so that Brooklyn would come in and help. Because Spot would never have come unless Manhattan was in trouble and they would never have come if Jack had asked for the help. No, Brooklyn was too good to be asked. Spot was one for heroics and I could see how Dragon had created his plan and how close I had been to destroying the whole thing. I could hear Dragon's voice and I could feel the sting of his open palm on the back of my head. I was in so much trouble.

I needed to make up for my stupidity somehow. I ran towards the selling docks, following Denton the reporter. I took note of how many newsies were in the selling docks, I made mental memories of which boys were hurt where. I listened to Denton command a group of newsboys to freeze and I followed his voice. I caught sight of Jack Kelly standing dead center in a group of newsboys. His arm went around Les and his foot stepped on David. Spot was talking excitedly to Blink and Skittery was holding himself up with one of the ropes of the docks. It was perfect chaos as the flash went off loudly and the puff of smoke revealed a bunch of confused looking News Boys all but that Jack Kelly. He stood proudly, defiant and just perfect and that's when I noticed. He wasn't wearing his red bandana, I had been so caught up and distracted all morning that I had missed Jack's signature piece of clothing.

My stomach groaned and I felt light headed. I was in so much trouble.


	13. King of New York

**12. King of New York **

**By Gamester **

**Bird On Watch: Reader**

They were all waiting for something; I didn't need any of my father's training to determine that much. I could only assume they were waiting for a sign from their newspaper reporter- Brenton, I recalled- that their story actually made it in the day's paper. They were a funny little lot and so different from my brother and I. The strike was probably the biggest battle they'd ever fought, and there weren't even guns involved. It intrigued me, to say the least. In the world I was from, you didn't _hope_ to win, you _had_ to win. Or you died.

As always, my assumptions were correct. In Brenton came, and he slapped the paper down like it was a royal flush. It didn't take long for the boys to crowd around it, all trying to get a glimpse of their ugly mugs in black-in-white.

Well, not _all_ of them were ugly, but I didn't have time to dwell on that thought, for the curly-haired one said something of great interest.

"You got us on the front page."

I had to admit I was impressed. The front page was a big deal in New York City. Thousands of people would see their story, regardless of whether they opened it to read the other articles or not. I debated going off-post to tell Dragon of this information right away, but I reasoned that he, of all people, would read every newspaper available in the city.

If I hadn't known any better, I would have said this was Christmas morning. The newsies' faces were bright-eyed and full of optimism. It was a joyous moment, and all I could do was watch it all unfold from my tiny, hidden booth in Tibby's.

Maybe that's why being a bird had appealed to me so much in the beginning. After running away from the gang, I'd never really considered any other job. I could just sit back and do what I was good at- reading people. I didn't have to get involved; I _couldn't _get involved, according to Dragon's rules. Michael was perfectly fine with that as well, probably even more so than I was. After all, it was not me who had been asked to kill a man.

It was then the one in pink said something completely uncharacteristic of a Manhattan newsie:

"So you get your picture in the paper, what does that get ya, huh?"

I could tell by his behavior that he had been itching to say something. He looked a bit older than the others, well passed his newsies-prime days. When I added in his nonchalant pretense and his pink ensemble, I knew he was in want of attention, and that was why he had said what he said.

"Hey, glum and dumb!"

My ears perked up.

"You're in the papes, you're famous. You're famous, you get anything you want. That's what's so great about New York!"

'_Well, not quite, Mr. Racetrack Higgins,'_ I thought to myself. Out of all the Manhattan newsies, his was the only name I knew, save for Jack Kelly.

I wasn't in love with him. Even though I hadn't the slightest clue what romantic love felt like, I was certain it hadn't gone _that_ far. I wasn't even sure I was capable of feeling something that deep, considering where I'd come from.

"A porcelain tub with boilin' water." I laughed at Spot's desire. The King of Brooklyn took cold baths, just like the rest of us. What a city!

Racetrack, filled with as much of an ego boost as he could take, jumped on the table and starting calling himself the King of New York. It was a sight to see, and I couldn't lie- I was thoroughly enjoying it.

As the boys continued to celebrate their success by swinging on fans and giving that newspaper fellow a table-cloth-cape, I kept my eyes on one newsboy in particular and let my mind wander to the day I broke Dragon's rule- the day I got involved.

_I was running as fast as my little legs could possibly take me. I was new, and I didn't yet know how fast Dragon required information from his birds. If he was anything like my uncle, I only had an hour at the most, which was a problem, as I was way up in Harlem. I knew the quickest way to the Brooklyn Bridge was to cut through Central Park. The thought made me a little uncomfortable. I was all by myself, it was dark, and I was a female. Should anyone have wished to rob me, or worse, my hands were the only things I had to defend myself. I wasn't a bad fighter by any means, but my small five-foot frame had little chance against the average man and his knife. _

_I made up my mind: I would cut through the forest, and just keep running as fast as possible. I wouldn't stop to look around for any potential threats, I wouldn't give anyone the chance to reach me. _

_As I neared Midtown, I let out an internal sigh of relief. I had made it through Central Park unscathed. _

_That's when I saw something move out from behind a tree. This thing was now blocking my way, but I didn't have enough time to swerve. _

"_Ouch!" _

_This thing had just spoken. This thing was also separating me from the ground._

"_Sorry," I said, quickly removing myself from the stranger's back._

_As the boy stood up, I obeyed my instinct to move my head and neck into the shadows. I was a bird now. My job was to blend in and disappear. Disappear. _

_I had to run. _

_As I backed away to make a mad dash, the stranger caught my wrist._

"_Hey now, there ain't no need to run off. It was an accident; I'm not gonna hurt ya for it."_

_He didn't sound threatening at all, and his breath didn't smell of alcohol, so I stayed put for the time being. Besides, I could tell by his small stature and lack of any serious muscle tone that I could take him in a fight- if it came to that. I knew somehow, though, that it wouldn't. _

"_You're new to the city, ain't ya, kid?"_

"_What?"_

"_I just mean… any doll from around here would know it ain't the best of ideas to be alone in Central Park at night. Not all men as dashingly handsome as me have the best of intentions… ya know?"_

_He was from New York, or at least had been here a while. His 'dashingly handsome' remark was not a suave way to charm me, it was more of a sarcastic joke that just rolled off his tongue. He was funny, and he wasn't desperate. He spoke to me with a straight-forward tone, but he softened his voice near the end, sounding slightly uncomfortable. He may have been trying to protect any innocence he believed me to have… or, he himself was too innocent to be that forward with me. Either way, within that split second, I found him endearing. _

"_What was you runnin' so fast from, anyway? Is someone chasing ya?" he asked, sounding suddenly concerned. _

_The darkness was making me uncomfortable; I couldn't read his looks. And I wanted to. _

"_Just stand over there and I'll tell ya whatever you wanna know."_

_He backed up until the moonlight lit up every inch of his face. I could make out every feature, and it made me feel more at ease. _

"_No, I wasn't running from anyone or anything," I said, examining him. _

_The ink stains on his fingers told me he was a newsie. I relaxed even more- I hadn't been a bird for long, but I had already heard good things about the city's newsboys, specifically about the ones in Manhattan. I assumed he must've known Spot Conlon, so it was even more important now for me to keep my identity hidden. Dragon was already weary of me joining the birds- he didn't need to know I had broken the most important rule._

_I was thankful for the ink stains. Without them, I wouldn't have been able to tell he sold newspapers for a living. He certainly didn't dress like it. He wore a vest and a gold pocket watch. These items weren't perfect or brand-new, but they were in good condition, so he must have had other means of making money. He was different, unique- he did his own thing. I respected that._

"_What's your name, kid?" he asked._

"_Isabella Pavone." I had given him my mother's maiden name. "You?"_

"Racetrack Higgins, but my fellow newsies all call me 'Race'."

_Gambling. That was his other profession. No parent on Earth would name their kid Racetrack. The newsies gave him a nickname, so even though he separated himself, he was still part of the group. _

"_Well," I said, trying not to get in deeper than I already was, "thank you, Race, for breaking my fall. I was just on my way out of the park. It was good to meet you."_

"_Same here. See ya around."_

But he never would see me around. Not ever. But I constantly saw him. Oh yes, he seemed to pop up wherever I was posted. And the more I learned about him, the more I wanted to talk to him. And the more I wished I could break the rules again.

I was broken out of my thoughts by Jack speaking. The boys had all gathered round a table to discuss their next step, which would be, according to Jack, a rally.

"A rally. A newsies rally, with all the kids from all over New York. It'll be the biggest, loudest, noisiest blow-out this town's ever seen!"

I thought it was a pretty good idea, so long as they could get people from all over the city to come to Manhattan.

I saw the newsies each grab a glass- except for the really sweet one and the one with the eye patch, they had to share- and toast to "our man Denton". _Denton_ was his name. Not Brenton. I made a quick mental note of that and quietly snuck out of the restaurant. Since Spot was currently inside the place I had just exited, I was the only person who could tell Dragon of this news of the rally- and I was sure he would consider it to be _big_ news. If Dragon was feeling especially charitable, he might be so pleased as to let me choose my next post.

If he did, I had not doubt in my mind where I would choose: Sheepshead Bay.

I didn't know why I kept doing it to myself. Each time I saw him was just another reminder of how much I couldn't be with him. I was causing myself pain, but I didn't care. In those moments, I was truly happy. In those moments- when I could see him laugh, see him bite his fingernails, see him blow a fuse when he lost- I could feel my heart pound and tell myself that there'd be a day when we'd do those things together.

I whistled to signal the next bird, and began my trek to Brooklyn.

Those moments were just moments. They ended. And I never had anything to show for it. I never would.

I shrugged. Such is the life of a bird.

~*~ whistles ~*~

**Bird On Watch: Arms**

If I'd learned anything in my short 18 years of life, it was this: Never hope for a great moment because it will always be ruined. One minute, Kloppman and Dutchy are proud because the latter _finally_ spelled a word correctly, and the next minute- Mr. Bad News himself waltzes in and begins searching through the tenant logs like he owns the place. I hated guys like Snyder- he believed he was above anyone who made less money than him. He couldn't see me hidden outside the door to the Newsboy Lodging House, but if he could- my stare would have sent chills all the way from his shoulders down to his greedy little hands. It was moments like these I wished I could disobey Dragon's rules. I _really_ wanted to get involved.

He was looking for Jack. Well, that wasn't surprising. Given that Kelly's face was plastered all over the front of the _New York Sun_, he was bound to come looking for him. Ah, Jacky-boy- now _he_ was something else. There isn't anything in the entire world that could tear that kid down.

Jack didn't notice me there. Well, he probably did, but he didn't know it was _me_- a Brooklyn bird keeping a watch on him. I wanted to warn him not to go in, but that wasn't my job, so I just pretended to by a passer-by. I blended in, which is what I was supposed to do. It was what I was good at. That's why they used to call me "Army" back home, which was shortened to "Arms" over time. I could read people, too, though not nearly as well as my sister. That distinct talent is what got us the gig in the first place.

Dragon was overly-weary about letting two siblings with an unknown background into his nest. He and his right-hand-man were especially weary about Reader. She's not the smooth, blend-in type, and they caught onto that right away.

Jack went in and- like I suspected- the newsies protected him from Snyder, warning him to keep quiet.

"Yeah, he was here. But he put an egg in his shoe and- beat it."

Racetrack was such a ham; I made a mental note to tell Reader what he said when I got home. I knew she fancied him. She would never admit it to anyone, but I knew. It must've been some brotherly instinct that told me. Or, maybe I could read people better than I thought.

I bit my tongue. Hearing Snyder describe Jack as "possibly dangerous" made me want to double over in laughter. Sure, he was an adventurous guy, but dangerous? I knew men twice as dangerous as Jack- and those were just the dead ones. Jack's reaction to Snyder's comment also gave me the urge to chuckle. Jack had the upper hand- he was right behind Snyder, practically laughing at him. Snyder may have had the money and the pride, but tonight- Jack had the power. Snyder was a fool; he was extremely underestimating what this wannabe cowboy could do.

While being underestimated is annoying, it's one of my favorite things to be. The satisfaction of proving that someone was wrong about you tastes sweeter than a thousand gumdrops. It reminded me of the day Reader and I were questioned by Dragon. He just thought we were nobody's. Ha! If only he knew of where we had come from- but that was behind us, so we remained silent as he questioned us about our past and warned us about how difficult it was to be a bird.

I told him about our "reading" skills, but he was not convinced that they were significant enough to do him or the birds any good. I smiled, because I knew what was coming- the taste of sweetness.

I began telling him things about himself; nothing huge. These were things my sister had probably figured out within 10 seconds of just looking at this guy. I told him where he was from, where he had been, and how long he'd been in Brooklyn. All of this I could determine just from the way he spoke. Accents and dialects were "People-reading 101". The look he gave me told me that he was impressed, but then his eyes flickered to Reader, still cautious. I hoped she was ready.

"Have anything to add, fortune teller?"

"How long ago did she die?" said Reader, after a pause.

"What?" said a very confused Dragon.

"You've lost one of your own- a girl- during her bird duties. That's why birds can't get involved. That's why your voice revealed this as the most serious rule. And that's why you looked at me when you said it."

We waited for Dragon to say something. He didn't, so I nudged Reader to continue.

"Whoever began this organization was a Brooklyn-ist. You haven't been leader here for a long time, but this headquarters hasn't moved, which tells me that you're still loyal to Brooklyn, even if you keep watch on the entire city."

Dragon seemed pleased with this. He moved his eyes over to his right hand men for confirmation.

"We haven't known you for more than an hour," I said, "and we can read you like and open book. You- one of the least open men in the city. It doesn't take us long to figure out what's going on in any given situation, and my sister here can use her abilities to predict what people will do next. It's like we were born to be birds. What do you say?"

And that was that. We became birds.

God bless that old man Kloppman; he played dumb and shoed Snyder out of there as quickly as he could.

Oh, the rally! So they were still going to go through with it. They even went so far as to make informative signs. These kids were more serious than we'd originally thought. I knew we had to find out exactly how many boroughs planned on attending; my guess was Dragon would leave that job up to the owls.

After Snyder gave to a cause he was trying to destroy the leader of, he exited. When he was a safe distance away, I began my run to Brooklyn. But not before whistling to the next bird.

As I jogged across the Brooklyn Bridge, I became kind of worried. I could hear the hooting of the night, I could hear the confirmations of who would be attending the rally coming in. Things seemed to be going pretty well for the Manhattan newsies. The rally was beginning to take hold and it looked like they could have a big turn-out. They were in for a great moment.

Which meant it was bound to be ruined.

* * *

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	14. Sarah

**Sarah**

**By Pegasus **

**Bird on Watch: Hunter**

Goddammit, Kelly.

With slumped shoulders and a hollow sigh, I reached down to fix the frayed laces of my shoes and prepared to move out.

After the run around Kelly gave me today, I was ready to call it in. The sun had set hours ago and I didn't have it in me to pull a double shift today. Relief swept in quickly when he finally turned the corner on Duane Street and headed inside the Newsboys Lodging House. My task, I thought too soon, was complete.

Shoulda known better than to get my hopes up.

I guess I shouldn't be taking my frustration out on Kelly — I've been having a rough couple of days — but he wasn't helping matters with all the meandering he did today. He knew the birds were tracking his every move — Spot Conlon had told Jack himself. It crossed my mind that the Manhattan newsie was trying to shake me off. After all, Jack's got reason to be paranoid, what with that nasty Refuge warden chasin' after him all these months.

Dragon must've known Jack would be on the constant move. It was a job meant for a trained, trusted bird, someone with a streak of determination or someone who was damn stubborn.

I wasn't any of that, so I was surprised when Dragon himself shoved me awake before sunrise and gave me the assignment.

"_Wha?_" I'd managed, still half-asleep.

"Ya gone deaf, Hunter?" he had whispered harshly. "I said you got Kelly."

It was a test. I was still the new guy around here, having been a bird for five or six months, and these fellas, like most, weren't quick to put their trust in some stranger from out west. It might've been a gamble for Dragon to have me tail the Manhattan leader, but I'm good at what I do. Yeah, I know—I ain't known for my modesty. Can't say I was too happy with Dragon's timing. I'd made a promise to be someplace tonight, and I knew tailing Jack Kelly would make for a broken promise.

The day was painless enough, though slow. I barely had anything to tell Dragon aside from the observation that Jack and that David Jacobs seem to be getting along. He won't be too impressed by that report, but maybe he'll be pleased to be the first Brooklyn guy to know that the famous Swedish Meadowlark was officially hosting the newsie rally tomorrow night. Being at Irving Hall and catching a glimpse of Medda while Jack and Jacobs made rally arrangements was the one high point of the day.

Shaking off my thoughts, I almost missed the ominous black carriage sitting on the corner. Jack must've been off-guard, as he had confidently strode inside the lodging house. I dived behind a clutter of barrels, cloaking myself in its shadows.

Chancing a glance through the windows, I saw the back of Warden Snyder's head. Jack hadn't gone far — still visible by the door — and was being hushed by his pals. By the looks of it, Snyder was in search of Jack.

Kelly dared to clown around for a few seconds before running back outside. The smile he had displayed to his friends inside just moments before was nowhere in sight.

After pulling tight the laces, I signaled to the bird on watch in the area—think it was Arms today, I always forget—and took off after Kelly, his form shrinking quickly in the distance. I wasn't sure where Kelly was heading — maybe Medda's? A hopeful thought, but it was more likely that he was going to circle back to the lodging house after Snyder disappeared.

I scratched out that last thought when I saw Kelly's purposeful stride. He obviously had someplace in mind. We passed Medda's — too bad; I wouldn't have minded visiting the place again. I followed as we crossed Horace Greeley Square, and a shrill whistle broke through the relative silence of the night. I recognized the signature high tone and grimaced. Way to be subtle, Clam.

Jack's objective became clear to me when we were a few blocks away: he was actually making his way to the Jacobs' apartment. Amusement tugged at the corner of my lips as I wondered whether Kelly's feet were leading him to the apartment because of his newest best buddy, or because of his newest infatuation with Sarah Jacobs. I couldn't blame him if it was the latter — she was a pretty girl.

He stopped at the foot of the apartment's fire escape. Following a few steady breaths, Jack hoisted himself up the metal steps and softly ascended.

The Jacobs resided in a room on the top floor. They had several windows, two of them by the fire escape, both of which were open to let in the summer breeze and looked out from the children's partition. The layout of the place made the birds' jobs easy.

I knew I had to get up on the roof. Looking towards the darkened sky, I measured the best approach to the rooftop without raising Kelly's suspicions. My work was cut out for me. With one eye on Kelly almost at the top flight, I backtracked to the adjacent apartment and climbed, quietly, working hard to ensure my old shoes didn't clang loudly against the metal rungs.

I momentarily stopped my ascent when I saw Kelly had come to a halt outside the Jacobs window. He peeked in through the open windows, lingering a little longer on the second one — I'd bet money that was the window overlooking Sarah Jacobs — before steadily setting himself down on the metal stairway.

There were just a few flights left to the roof on my end. I summoned the last of my strength to hurdle up the fire escape and, once on the top of the building, trotted across to the Jacob's apartment rooftop.

We spotted each other immediately: Laces quirked her head to the side at my arrival and I gestured with my hand in return, telling her not to mind my presence. As she was the owl stationed here and because I was sure she didn't mind looking over Jack — not to mention I was damn tired — I gladly relinquished my post.

A potting bench rested along the wall of the roof, greenery sprouting from the small pots atop. Old clothes floated from the laundry lines. Several washboards were left along the sides and tin drums of various sizes were scattered all over the roof. A long bench with a clothes wringer stood in the middle of the roof. I decided that that bench was calling my name.

Slowly, I lowered myself on the bench, wary of creaking wood. Even though it was no spring mattress, being able to lie down like this after the exhausting day and two nights of restless sleep provided my body with a needed reprieve.

Laces remained hidden in the shadows along the ledge. She might have been taking a risk to stay so close to her target, as Jack was about six feet below, but I wasn't too worried. It wasn't much of a secret how infatuated Laces was with the Manhattan leader, but she knew how to do her job. Or maybe I was just too weary to be worried, because as soon as my head hit the hard wood beneath me, I felt my lids getting heavy.

Laces was trying to get my attention with a wave and a frown. I turned my head lazily to face her.

_What?_ I mouthed.

_Why are you still here?_ she asked, exaggerating her lip movements so I could read them. She must have expected I would relieve my post and head out. Normally, I would happily dash back to Brooklyn and fall into my own lumpy bed and scratchy sheets, but my body was having none of it today.

_I'm tired, _I explained simply.

_So go back to the lodging house._

What part of "I'm tired" did she not understand?

_I'm tired_, I repeated with irritated emphasis. I cut short the conversation, crossing my arms and closing my eyes.

Boy, I was taking it out on everyone today. I didn't mean to, but… I mean, I know why I've been so damn surly and glum lately, but I couldn't understand why it was bothering me still. Three nights had already passed since Katherine and me fought. I should be over it by now.

Thing is, my overprotective sister knows about what I do. Well, she doesn't know what it is exactly — all she knows is that it ain't work that's exactly safe, seeing as I rarely make it home at nights, and that was enough reason for her to start a crying fit. I yelled, a lot, and I regret it, but she was making a big fuss out of nothing. I tried to make up for it, telling her I'd make it to her birthday dinner tonight.

But then Dragon gave me this assignment in the morning. I think he's noticed my halfhearted work the past couple of days. The dinner was over hours ago, I'm sure, and Kat's probably doing the dishes right now. I don't know why she bothered having a dinner with her friends when she could barely even afford to feed herself properly. I didn't help matters, with the little income I provided.

Great. More guilt.

One day, I was going to get us back west. I hated the city stink and seeing my sister suffer long hours sitting in front of a machine inside of a dark room. I just needed to save up enough money…

I rubbed at my temples, trying hard to ease the tension without letting it out as a frustrated sigh.

But there was a sigh, and it wasn't from me. The heavy, burdened sound came from below. Seeing as the only person below was Jack, I absentmindedly wondered what it was that was bothering him. Jack always put up a cheery front, so the weariness didn't seem to suit him at all. I remembered Warden Snyder back at the Duane Street lodging house. The dogged Warden had hit too close to home tonight, not to mention the chase he apparently gave Jack a couple of days ago. If there was anything Jack — or any of us street kids — hated most, it was being caged in, the way he'd been when he was sent to the Refuge. I tried to imagine how he felt now, having his past nearly capture and confine him again. I guess it was enough to warrant such a leaden sigh.

I don't remember falling asleep, but I must have, because the next thing I knew, soft, hushed voices were breaking through my slumber. It was times like these when I hated being such a light sleeper. I sensed the rising sun but didn't bother opening my eyes. Instead, I strained my ears to listen to the conversation that had woken me.

"Why didn't you wake us up?" came a gentle female voice. Sarah Jacobs, I registered vaguely.

"Well, I didn't want to disturb nobody." Kelly was up. Interesting, the guy's not known to be an early riser. "Anyway, it's like the Waldorf out here. Great view, and cool air."

A coy pause.

I had to struggle to make out the next part. "Go up on the roof."

Huh. The roof.

My eyes flew open. Oh, crap.

I sprung from my slouched position and saw Laces doing the same. She put a finger to her lips and hurriedly signaled me to follow her. Her sudden anxiety broke through the last remnants of sleep.

Clanking metal. My attention snapped to the fire escape. Kelly was coming.

We scrambled in long strides across the roof, pushing past the shirts and sheets hanging on the lines, and lunged behind a small nook, gathering our limbs in the cramped space.

We flew just in time, too, as we heard the sounds of feet landing on pavement. Kelly was on the roof. I caught some dragging and shuffling sounds, followed by a loud yawn. A crick of the neck and the spine and I assumed he was stretching out his back and arms, stiff from the night on the fire escape. More footsteps, more shuffling, followed by baffling huffs and grunts.

I raised a questioning brow at Laces who had a better view from her angle. She gave a small grin and punched the air in small, restricted movements, imitating Kelly's air boxing.

It wasn't long before the sounds of another pair of feet joined Jack's boxer's shuffling ones.

I ventured a glance. Sarah Jacobs had brought with her a basket filled with glasses, a bottle of fresh milk, and several bread rolls. The sight of food made my stomach twist greedily, reminding me that I hadn't had lunch or dinner yesterday.

"Are you hungry?" she asked Jack, approaching him timidly after setting down the basket on the same bench I'd spent the night on.

"Yeah," Jack answered.

"Good," she said with a smile, "because I made you breakfast."

Sarah removed a sheet from the clothesline while Jack eagerly picked a ripe tomato from someone's tomato plant. Looks like Kelly just couldn't keep those sticky fingers still. He rounded the bench and took a moment to take in the view before joining Sarah as she neatly laid the linen sheet and set the counter for breakfast. He grinned as he watched her. Lucky guy. The lot of us can only dream of a nice girl like Sarah Jacobs.

"Papa's so proud of you and David," she began, "You should hear him talking about _Jack Kelly_, the strike leader, who occasionally takes his meals with us."

"Well, this is one strike leader who's gonna be very happy when it's all over. Then I can get outta here and go to Santa Fe. I mean, there's nothin' for me to stay for, is there?"

Sarah's eyes flickered towards him. Hesitating at the question he posed, she got up and moved to the roof's ledge in an attempt to hide the disappointment evident in her face.

"You know you should see Santa Fe," Jack continued. "Everything's different there. It's all bigger. You know, the desert, and the sky, and the sun."

Right. From everything I've heard, Kelly's never been out West.

Sarah drew in a breath before turning to face him. "It's the same sun as here," she asserted gently.

Jack cast his eyes downward. "Yeah, it just looks different," he said quietly.

But I had to hand it to him — he had one hell of an imagination. Because he's right: the sky, the sun — it did look different out there. I have to admit I'm a little surprised by Sarah's response. Most girls I know got these romantic ideas about the west. She could've easily asked him more about Santa Fe, but she didn't. Looked like practicality ran in the family.

"I should… get ready for work," she said. Her smile faltered for a moment.

"Sarah," Jack called. "I'm just not used to havin' whether I stay or whether I go matter to anybody." He stood and moved next to her. They looked out onto the city as it began to stir, getting ready for another day. "You know, I'm not saying it should matter to you. I'm just sayin', um…" he trailed off. "But, does it? Matter?"

I couldn't see Sarah's face, but there was a soft laugh. And that seemed to be enough for Jack as he grinned back at her.

The pair spoke for a while longer until Sarah could no longer ignore the fact that she really did have to get ready for work. I picked out more small things about the upcoming Newsies rally — nothing new from yesterday — before Jack casually invited Sarah to the event at Irving Hall.

Me and Laces waited a few seconds after they disappeared down the fire escape together. The distinct sound of a whistle followed by another reached our ears: signals from our reliefs.

I was finally done.

We rose out from the cramped space. I squinted against the morning sun and turned towards Laces. It was the first time I really looked at her since last night, when I so nicely decided to ignore her.

Her expression was somber. I didn't have to be a genius to figure why.

"You heading to Brooklyn?" I asked, aware of having to report our findings back to Dragon.

"Yeah," she replied with a nod, forcing a smile.

Maybe it was that sunrise, the prospect of a new day, or the couple of hours of real sleep I got that cleared my mind, but I was finally feeling some positive energy, for the first time in days. It was time to stop moping around and start making amends. I already decided to give Kat a short visit before going over to see Dragon. And Laces here, well, I felt bad about last night.

"Hey, Laces. Wanna grab something to eat on the way? It's on me."


End file.
